Angel of the Bat: Times of Heresy
by MJTR
Summary: It has been a year since Cassandra Cain discovered Catholicism and took the title Angel of the Bat. Though confident in her faith, friends and abilities, enemies out from her past have come to Gotham seeking revenge. As beliefs are challenged and strength pushed to its limits, only Gotham's Angel can prevent everything from falling apart.
1. Chapter 1

Angel of the Bat: Times of Heresy

A Fan Fiction by MJTR

[[A few words on continuity-

This is a sequel to my fic, _Angel of the Bat_. I think this story will be best enjoyed if you read that one first, but I don't think it will be horribly heavy on continuity lockout, so if the 48 chapter length of _Angel_ scares you away, you can just hop on from here if you feel so inclined.

At the same time I am releasing this, I am posting material for a related side project serving as a team up between Angel Cassie and Kamala Khan as Ms. Marvel. You can check out that story, called The Angel and The Mujahid, to get more of your religious fix, if you feel so inclined.]]

...

It began as a standard night on patrol. No clowns with knives, no Napoleonic crime lords, nothing special.

It was just after eleven, a man in his mid-thirties straightening the black leather jacket he was wearing as he stepped out of the radio station he had been working at. His hair was cropped short and chestnut, his eyes hazel. His bumper wore a sticker of his station reading "107.7: WWJD".

Seven minutes into his drive home he hit a piece of shrapnel he hadn't seen in the road. He grit his teeth as the car rumbled against him before he finally brought it to a stop in a fast food parking lot.

"Well, shoot," he muttered, squatting down to look at the damage. "Flat as a board. Ugh." He pulled a cell phone out from his jacket. "Hey? Joanne? You there? Yeah, just hit something in the road and it took out one of my tires. Can you come pick me up? I'm stuck at the BK by Robinson's Park."

As he spoke to his wife, a rotund man wearing a pair of glasses walked out of the restaurant. He approached the car with a sense of wonder as the one on the phone stepped out. "That is a beautiful car," he said.

The man's response was a quick and curt, "Thanks," before he went back to talking to his wife. The larger one laid a hand on the back of the vehicle, admiring its black polish. "Hey? Do you mind?"

"Do you know what they do to make it that metallic color?" He asked with a wide smile coming across his face. "Aluminum flakes. This has to be a metallic midnight."

"I said get away from my car!" the owner shouted, shoving him.

"Eastwood would call this a 502—"

The car's owner got so far as to grab ahold of the stranger by his shirt before a voice shouted, "Enough!" Unsure of where it was coming from, he thrust the man forward, knocking him onto the ground.

Out from the darkness a shape descended, dressed in black and white. The car's owner glared at her as she stood up straight, revealing a height of only five foot five. Her medium-length black hair was push backed to reveal a face covered by a black domino mask. The under-layer of her armor was completely black, though she bore a chest plate, a protective armor on her upper and lower arms and padding above her knees, all of which was white. In the center of her chest plate was the outline of a bat, which was golden and designed to appear as if made of stained glass, a white cross in the center. Slung across her back was a dulled katana. She was the Angel of the Bat, known by her friends and family to be Cassandra Wayne, formerly Cain.

"This thick-headed fool wouldn't leave my car alone," the car's owner said.

Angel recognized him by his voice. "Cameron Gram," she said, helping the struggling, fat man to his feet. "I have heard your show."

"Then you've probably heard I'm not too keen on you people," he said. "I worked hard for this car, I don't need someone trying to damage it."

As Cassandra she had listened to Gram on his radio program for the first few nights after he had started his show. She had hoped a new, religious program would be interesting and perhaps enlightening, but Gram quickly proved his brand of salvation distastefully similar to others she had heard too much of.

"I come to Gotham because it is where I have been called upon! Because it is a city lost in its sin and vice!"

"And if you are offended by my words now, you should fear the force you will beholden to on the day of judgement."

"The problems with Batman are the problems with the rest of America. He is beholden to no one, feels he has no one to fear. That is why he has paralyzed this city with fear and no one is investigating the vile things he has those children doing. Seduction of the innocent, I tell you!"

Angel's attention returned to the man she had helped up. "Alright?"

"I think so," he said, pulling his glasses back on. "I didn't mean anything by it, Angel. I just wanted to get a better look. I just like cars so much. My therapist said I have this neurological disorder—"

"It is alright," she said. "Go home. Rest."

"Think on how you can improve yourself, young man!" Gram said. "Idle hands are the devil's playthings." Angel turned back toward him and he added, "And you should consider who you're here representing, young woman."

"I am representing myself," Angel said.

"You think that cross printed on your chest is all about you then?"

"It is my costume and my faith, I will wear what I like."

"Christianity has enough false prophets mucking its name these days," Gram said. "A violent vigilante is hardly the kind of representation any of us are looking for."

Angel turned from him, drawing her grappling hook from her belt and zipping off onto a nearby office building. Part of her wanted to argue with Gram further, but she knew she had more work to do. And she probably lacked the vocabulary necessary for a proper debate. Maybe if Stephanie had been with her.

Gram's negativity was washed away within the hour. She'd been patrolling atop an apartment building in the slums when there came a momentary cry for help on the ground. A woman, probably in her fifties, was clutching a leash attached to a barking Dalmatian puppy as a young man commanded her to keep quiet through grit teeth. He apparently hadn't considered that a little old woman in a robe just taking her dog out wouldn't be carrying her purse or wallet. Angel descended as he was in the midst of saying, "Listen… you're going to go back inside, open your purse and give me—"

He let out a cry of pain as Angel's feet crashed into his shoulders, knocking him to the ground. His knife landed a few feet away and it didn't take much for Angel to deliver a few well-placed strikes to his chest and legs. The thug couldn't even get back to his feet as Angel set him against the building and put a call into the police from her headset. "Thank you so much," the woman said, clutching her dog close. "I was so terrified."

Angel pulled one of her gloves off and offered her hand to the Dalmatian, who sniffed it briefly before licking it. "You are welcome."

"Can I offer you anything? You must be exhausted from all that you do every night."

"I am fine, but thank you," Angel said, pulling her glove back on. "I will be here, make sure he is handled properly.

"God bless you!"

That one made her smile a little. Angel returned her attention to the injured thug and asked, "Should I call a hospital?"

"I can't feel anything!" he shouted. "Did you paralyze me?!"

"Pressure points. Nothing permanent."

"And what, you're just waiting here with me?" he asked through gnashing teeth. "Slow night or something?"

"Yes. But that does not matter." She dropped to one knee next to him. "I do not like to hurt people. I do not want to hurt you again."

"Most of us aren't out here for the fun of it," he said, gritting his teeth. "I got laid off last month. If I can't pay my rent, I'm going to be stuck on the streets, and Gotham winters can kill you."

"It is not right that you may lose your protection. But it is not right to steal either."

"The difference is you aren't going to do that pressure point thing to my landlord."

The two remained silent until the police arrived to pick him up, Angel just softly saying, "I will pray for you," before departing back for the rooftops.

An hour passed uneventfully before she sat down atop a closed warehouse and pressed one of the buttons on her headset, shifting it from "work mode" to "personal use", altering the callback number's identity to that of her cell phone. "You have… one, missed call, from Sadie," the computerized voice in her earpiece said. "2:13 AM. Would you like to return?"

Cassandra pressed another button as she leaned back. She heard a few rings before the person on the other line answered, "Hey Cassie," with a whisper.

"I saw I missed a call. Are you alright?"

"Yeah. You know, just insomnia, as usual. Guess it's the same for you?"

"Yes," Cassandra said. She'd lied to Sadie about having insomnia for nearly as long as they'd been dating.

"I've been trying to count those pieces of popcorn on the ceiling, but not even boredom can knock me out every night. I've tried just watching whatever the hell they put on TV at this hour, but everything wakes Patrick up. It's a pain."

Patrick was Sadie's second cousin, who she'd been living with for the last year. He was easily frustrated and too pushy for his own good, but he and his wife, Charlene, loved Sadie nonetheless. And thankfully, they liked Cassandra as well.

"Does your dad have you doing anything this weekend?"

"I do not think so."

"Any movies you want to see or anything?"

"I never know what to think. You can pick."

"I'll read some reviews and stuff… I miss you."

"I saw you yesterday."

"I know you did, I was there. I still miss you."

Cassandra sighed but then smiled. "I miss you too."

"I'm going to get back to counting popcorn on the ceiling, I didn't mean to wake you up or anything."

"You should try praying," Cassandra said. "Some nights it helps me."

"Maybe I will. Or maybe I'll be able to tell you how many kernels I sleep under. I'll let you know which."

"I love you."

"Love you too, Cassie. Get a good night's sleep."

"If only," Cassandra said after ending the transmission. Maybe Bruce would call in the next hour and said he and Damian could handle things moving forward, but she doubted it. She could rest a few minutes longer, there wasn't much going on—

That train of thought was interrupted as she caught sight of a throwing knife just quick enough to jump from her spot as it collided with the rooftop. Her eyes darted in the direction it had come from, barely catching sight on a figure standing a floor up in the parking garage next to the warehouse. The figure stepped into the garage, daring her to come after him.

Angel only needed a few moments to respond, drawing her grapple and gliding into the garage to face her opponent. The building only had lights in the central vestibule that held the elevator, otherwise she couldn't make anything out clearly. A few barely distinguishable cars sat spread across the end furthest from her, but she didn't see any sign of whoever had thrown the knife. Her right hand went for her katana as the rest of her body held a battle stance. All seemed still and silent until she could make out the increasing volume of the figure running at her.

Angel turned in face to feel another blade meet hers. The faint glow given off by the vestibule did only the bare minimum in giving her attacker an identity. His uniform was almost pure black and clung to him tight, likely making it latex. The black ended at his elbows, though his lower arms and hands were covered with white bandages. His face, too, was consumed with the darkness, though some crude stitching line was visible around his mouth. The only bit of his body actually visible were his eyes, which were an unsettling, icy blue.

He jumped backwards and raised his own katana, unlike Angel's, razor sharp.

"Who are you?" Angel asked. The one in black said nothing, just maintaining his stance. "What do you want?" And with that question, rushed at her and took an overhead swing.

Thankfully, his blade wasn't nearly as dark as he was. Thanks to the glint reflecting off of it from the elevator room, Angel could parry his strikes. She didn't take her eyes off the blade once, its sheen guiding each clash and each attempted counter. But whoever the one in black was, he was capable of following her movements as well. None of Angel's attempted counterattacks made any contact, he either locked blades against her or jumped backwards.

Whenever one reached for another throwing knife or batarang, the other mimicked the action, their projectiles clashing in midair between the struggles for any kind of advantage. His reactions, his reflexes, they were all masterful. He was as fast and observant as she was.

Again in a clash of blades, Angel demanded, "Who are you?" and still he said nothing. In the space of a few moments, Angel struck his blade with enough force to knock it from his hands, but the man jumped and kicked hers, causing her to relinquish hers. Every punch and kick that followed only met cement or a blocking forearm. Despite neither landing a single, real hit, both stepped backwards, both exhaling labored, tired breaths. Casting the weariness aside, both rushed at one another, the one in black landing a hook into Angel's face at the same time she delivered a kick. Both fell over, the hits having knocked them off balance.

Only when they both returned to their feet was there a shout from the elevator room. "Odmience! To je dosť!"

Standing in the doorway was a tall man, similarly dressed all in black, a few blonde hairs slicked back on his head. He was dressed in a black trench coat, and three scars ran down his left cheek. His accent was unmistakably Russian.

Her oponent made a run for his sword and Angel did the same, but again the man in the elevator shouted, "Odmience!" With some reluctance, the warrior ran to his side as an elevator behind them arrived. "You're as good as they say," he said with a smirk. "But that means so is he."

"Who are you?" Angel demanded again. "And what do you want?"

"I have a score to settle," the man said, stepping backwards into his waiting car. Angel ran at the both of them, grabbing ahold of the sides of the elevator to keep them from escaping. The one she had not fought reached into his coat and produced a handgun. "And if you see your father before I do, tell him Lipov sends his regards." Angel could only take a few steps back before he pulled the trigger, the blast digging into the white and golden symbol on her chest, knocking her onto the ground backwards as they disappeared behind the closing doors.

Angel needed some time to push back afterwards. Her costume was designed to draw fire to the most heavily armored sections, so the bullet wouldn't do any permanent damage, but it still hurt badly and stole most of her remaining energy.

"Angel? Angel!" Batman called through her headset. "You haven't been responding. Is everything alright?"

"Someone is looking for David. And they are making me a part of it."

"No one seeking your father is ever anything good. Are you alright?"

She clutched the damaged symbol. "God was looking out for me tonight."


	2. Chapter 2

"Odmience… even by Gotham's standards, that's a very obscure reference." Bruce sat on the opposite side of the cave at his computer while Cassandra changed out of her uniform. "You said he sounded Russian?"

"I thought so," Cassandra said. "But I am not a good judge."

"Well, Russian or Eastern European would make sense. Odmience are Polish monsters. It's said that demons steal children from their parents and leave Odmience in their place. There are some implications to that, but it doesn't tell us much."

"What about the other man's name?"

"Lipov, you said? I don't have any files that include that name… Damian!"

Bruce's ten year old son stepped out from around the corner, shirtless from changing from the night and asked, "What?"

"Someone is trying to settle a score with David Cain. Do you recognize the name 'Lipov' from your time with the League of Assassins at all?"

"The League has had hundreds of warriors all over the planet. I barely knew Cain himself, I don't know about any Lipov off the top of my head."

Damian had only returned from his latest disappearance six months before. The arguments over his right to the Robin uniform had been long and fierce, only settled with many words exchanged between Bruce and Tim. Tim had since taken time to himself and constructed a new identity and uniform for himself, only finally won by the insistence by Bruce Damian taking the Robin mantle may settle his violent demeanor. Out of spite he dubbed himself "Red Robin", which Stephanie had routinely sung "Yuuum" to whenever it was mentioned. He continued to insist he was going to change it just to make her stop, but he still hadn't done so.

The last year had changed the dynamic of the manor significantly. With Tim and Stephanie having graduated from high school, he wasn't usually around, which meant she wasn't either, both having taken residence at Gotham University. "Neither of you have to stay so close," Bruce said. "I can send you anywhere you want. If your mother doesn't like the idea, Stephanie, I can create a scholarship. She doesn't have to know it was me."

"We want to be around, whenever you and the city need us," Stephanie said.

"Besides, it's not like I want to just quit wearing the suit overnight," Tim said. "This is what we do."

Damian had taken Tim's place, but he wasn't as friendly or open with Cassandra as Tim had been. The siblings had a certain respect for one another, but neither interact much outside of their uniforms.

"I saw Cameron Gram tonight."

"Cameron Gram? The evangelist from the radio?"

"Yes. He is a hateful man."

"I haven't heard more than a few words of his, but media evangelists can sometimes be unstable."

"Do you think… he may be planning something?"

Bruce paused for a minute before he turned to face her, setting a hand on her shoulder. "I haven't forgotten what those men did to you. I'm sure Gram seems familiar, with his hate and his ranting. But men with hateful words rarely act on them. He's not going to be another Seraphim. Just try and ignore him."

Cassandra nodded slowly, pushing aside the memories Bruce had mentioned. "Sadie wanted me to come out on Saturday night. Is that alright?"

"Can't really predict these things, but that will probably be fine," Bruce said. "Are you two doing well?"

"Very well."

"Good." Bruce stood up and stepped away from the computer. "We'll handle this Lipov and Odmience situation as it comes. The two of you should probably go to bed."

"How much sleep do you need before you go out?" Damian asked.

"Less than you. And it's going to stay that way."

Cassandra chuckled a little as he complained, following Bruce out of the cave and back into the manor. She said hello to Alfred as she passed him, curled up under her blankets and silently prayed until she fell asleep. _For the sick, for the troubled, for the homeless. For my friends and my enemies. Those I love and who are unloved. In your name, I pray._

…

"When are we finally going to get another Spoiler?" Stephanie asked with a sigh, laying on her upper-bunk and lazily tossing a foam football up at the ceiling, catching it whenever it fell. "I love being Batgirl, it's the coolest thing in the world, but where's my legacy? How come you're the last girl who got recruited?"

"There is Bruce's cousin," Cassandra said. "Batwoman."

"She doesn't count. She was already a woman when she started," Stephanie said.

Cassandra wasn't sure if it was the truth, but the stories went that before they were dormitories for the nursing students, Jensen was used by Amadeus Arkham to house some of his mental patients for study by the university students decades before. Whether it was true or not, it did explain the fact that every dorm in the hall was soundproof. No sounds of blaring music or sex ever travelled past the walls, and it allowed Stephanie and Cassandra to talk freely.

"Where and when did you get that jacket, by the way?" Stephanie asked.

Cassandra had come dressed in a faux-leather black jacket, and hadn't even noticed she hadn't taken it off when she entered. "It is Sadie's. She lent it to me the other night.

Stephanie smiled and cooed, teasing her. "That's adorable. What time is it, by the way? I'm going over to Tim's as soon as the witch comes back."

It took Cassandra longer than the average person to read Stephanie's digital alarm clock, but she reported, "Four fifteen."

"We still have, like, forty-five minutes then," she said, sinking further into her pillow. Stephanie's roommate, a Latina named Jordanna, had been a thorn in her side since she first moved into the dorms. Whether it was the loud, obnoxious pop music she often played when Stephanie was trying to study, the increasingly annoying guys she brought over or her stuck up, self-serving attitude, the two did not get along well. On the inside of the door was a whiteboard detailing who would be in the room when, the two attempting to share as little time together as possible.

"Did I say I was shot last night?" Cassandra asked.

"What?" Stephanie said, sitting up on her bed. "I mean, I know that's nothing new for you, but they usually don't hit. Where?" Cassandra pressed a finger to her upper chest, wincing a little as she did. "Are you okay?"

"My symbol is my most armored part," Cassandra said. "It is just a bruise."

"Alright, good. Don't scare me like that. Say 'I promise I'm okay' or something first." She let herself fall back into her laying position and sighed, "Maybe I shouldn't be rooting for another Spoiler if people are gonna keep getting hurt on the job."

"Can new Spoiler be a boy?" Cassandra asked.

"Under no circumstances." They both laughed. "You want to patrol together tonight? I love getting all this time with Tim, but we're already hanging out so much between classes. It's a weird shift to get used to."

"Sure, I will go with you." They sat quietly for a few minutes, sinking deeper into bed and chair when Cassandra asked, "What about Sadie? Can Sadie be Spoiler?"

"Do you _want_ Sadie to be Spoiler?" Stephanie asked. "Tim has been going on about how he worries about me from the first nights we started dating. Not like we even could have hung out otherwise, it took him forever to tell me his identity. And even then, it was a fake name. Trust me, Cassie, your life will be way easier as long as you don't have to worry about the person you're dating going out in costume."

Every few beats, Stephanie tossed the foam football to Cassandra, who tossed it back. The lazy afternoon felt like the prelude to another long night. Eventually, Stephanie said, "You should probably get home before Jordanna gets back. And things get started for the night. Alfred's definetly a better cook than whoever works the chow hall around here."

"Where do you want to meet?" Cassandra asked.

"Tim and I have a bunker underneath… oh no…" Stephanie let out a groan as she rolled over and got a look out the window, punching her pillow a few times. "Why are people running? What are they all afraid of? Do I even want to know?" She pulled open the window, exposing the two to all the shouts of terror outside. "Hey! What's going on out there?"

"Some freak in a super suit is attacking the football team!" One of them screamed. "Said he wants revenge and he's hospitalize anyone who got in his way!"

"Oh come on," Stephanie said with a sigh. "That's really petty. Unbelievably petty. You want to see the cave a little early?"

"Do you have a uniform for me in there?"

"Who do you think you're talking to? If I didn't keep a costume here we wouldn't get to hang out as long. Let's go kick some butt."


	3. Chapter 3

Up and down the football field the black and white streak rushed. Any attempt by the players of Gotham University was swiftly cut off by a sucker-punch from the streak.

"You meatheads are as dumb as everyone's always said," the streak said, his voice electrically distorted to mask his identity. "It's no wonder everyone says Keffer is raising your science grades so you can stay on the team." When he paused long enough to be distinguishable, his suit resembled a second skin of black armor with white streaks down its arms and center and what looked to be a racing helmet obscured his face.

"Please… what the hell do you want?" one of the lineman shouted. "What do we have to do with any of you freaks?"

"Freaks? This isn't the first time you've called me that, O'Doyle," he said. "You know, I can run fast, but I'm gonna pay you back. Very, very slowly."

The speedster took a step forward to lunge at the lineman, but was cut off by an eruption of a green, sticky substance on his foot. He paused, jerking it around a few times, trying to get it free before he was punched by a blur of black fast enough to free his leg. As he hit the ground, the football players stood, stunned, as his opponents stepped forward. Stephanie stood beside Cassandra, garbed in a uniform of black with lines of purple running down the side and her blonde hair flowing out of the back of her cowl. Though Angel's katana was still in the Batcave, Batgirl approached their opponent wielding a metal staff.

"… Wow, are you guys really as dumb as he just suggested?" Batgirl asked. "Run! Seriously, we've got him down for a sec, just run for it!"

After another moment of hesitation the team made a break toward the gym, the armored man in the suit getting back to his feet as Angel stepped up to Batgirl's side.

"Well, what do we have here then? Batslut and Catholic school girl, right?"

"Literally all the skin I'm showing is my mouth," Batgirl said. "My boss is the one with the spandex fetish and teamwork calls for matching uniforms."

"You may be digging deeper," Angel said.

"Shut up."

"Whatever. Why don't you go run off and tell your boss Slipsteam has just arrived? I'm not one for hitting girls," he said.

"Well this girl's fist is equal-opportunity!" Batgirl said. With that she rushed toward him, Angel standing back to study him further.

Slipstream was not so easily confronted. His dodge of Batgirl's punches and kicks were casual, comical even as he out maneuvered her and made a motion as he was checking his nails. Even when Batgirl attempted to sweep his legs he countered with a single hop, intent on mocking her efforts. Batgirl wasn't even paying attention to the way she was leading Slipstream toward Angel, achieving that end purely by accident.

The strike to the center of Slipstream's back knocked him off balance and made him shout. As he hit the ground he took a lightning fast dash down the field, stripping some of the field of its grass as he held his back and presumably grit his teeth behind his helmet. Despite the struggle, he managed to dodge a swing from Batgirl's staff.

"Damnit… hey, kid, you hear the one about the blonde and the speedster?"

"Does it end with me kicking your ass?"

Batgirl and Slipstream's battle maneuvered up and down the football field, the Speedster still largely content to just dodge any blow she could throw. Batgirl's breaths were getting faster, sweat was starting to drip from her cowl as she kept trying to strike him with her staff, but got nothing. Stopping for a moment to catch her breath, Slipstream closed the distance and delivered a flurry of lightning-fast punches to her gut and another blow to her face. Angel was quick to Batgirl's side, catching her as she fell backwards.

"Thanks," Batgirl said through a wheeze of pain. "How am I doing?"

"… Not good," Angel said.

"Thanks for not sugar-coating it," Batgirl said. "We ever fought one of these guys before? My head's spinning too much to remember."

Before Angel could respond, Slipstream had again closed the distance. More forceful than she'd wanted to be, Angel pushed Batgirl out of her hold and caught one of her enemy's fist. Though Slipstream had been fast enough it was still vibrating in Angel's hand, the punch had been stopped.

"What—the hell—is this?" Slipstream shouted. "No one's that fast!"

"Superman's faster," the still dazed Batgirl said. "Not by much. Just by enough."

"Shut u—"

One of Angel's fists cut him off, smashing into his helmet and cracking a chunk of his visor as he shouted in pain. "Stand down," Angel said.

"Screw you!" he said.

Angel began to twist his arm until he shouted again. "Repent."

"Boss is gonna have my ass… but enough is enough for one day."

Angel could only keep her grip on his hand for a few seconds after he started rushing forward again, dashing out of sight in another black and white blur toward the sunset. She held her glare in his direction, but went directly to helping Batgirl off the ground.

"Owww… not my best outing, I'll be the first to admit," Batgirl said.

"You did fine," Angel said.

"Isn't 'Thou shalt not lie, even for thine best friend' like, commandment number three or something?"

"Nine. You worry too much."

The rest of the night, between runs across rooftops and double-checking a few of Gotham's seediest bars, the two would stop and listen to any garbled police radio they could, hoping for some comment of a Speedster in downtown Gotham. As the hours wore one and Stephanie kept adjusting the frequency though, no word of one came.

"Guess we should have just punched him harder," Stephanie said with a sigh. "Or I should have just hit him, period."

"You were not trained like me," Cassandra said. "You'd never want it."

"Maybe I'd want a little of it," Stephanie said. "You putting me through training from hell again. The wonders of the days before I faked my death… anything you wanna listen to try and get pumped up? We still have two hours til the end of shift." Stephanie adjusted the radio. "They're playing Metallica… some Florence over here…"

"Wait… go back."

"Back to where?"

"The people talking. Just talking."

With a few more turns of the tuner, the radio began to play from the station just a few blocks away from Cassandra's encounters just a few nights before.

"So what you're saying is is that this is a matter of the state of public schooling in this country?"

"That's exactly right, Gary." The voice, proud and staunch as ever said. "You know good and well how it was back when we were kids. Children aren't showing their parents respect and parents aren't demanding it. It's as if the people of this country have forgotten that it is not simply your right, but your responsibility, to train and prepare a new generation of Christians."

Stephanie's fingers were rubbing against her temple. "Why are we listening to this?"

"… I don't know… I met him, Gram, on the street."

"Was he as big of a stupid jerk then too?" Stephanie asked.

"You want to know how we're to a point some kid is in a speed suit, harassing football players at his college?" Gram asked. Because it's just a slippery slope. When the children of this country are showing, at a shocking rate, to be aligning closer with the ideas of communism, when they're reciting oaths to demons in their basements over a board game and when you let your boys dress up and claim they 'identify as girls,' you're just opening the floodgates for something like this—"

"Aaaaaaand shutting it off," Stephanie said. "You don't need any more of that crap in your life and I don't need any more of it any my ears."

Cassandra sighed. "He sounds so bold… he believes every word he says… I am always wondering…"

"Well wondering is what you're supposed to do," Stephanie said. "There's no one more confident than an idiot who believes his own lies. You beat The Seraphim, you know that better than anyone."

"The Seraphim was sick. Very sick," Angel said. "Gram is not hurting anyone. He is just talking."

"Well, from the looks of things, he's hurting my best friend right now," Stephanie said, offering her a hand up. "Please don't tell me you've listened to him before."

"… Only sometimes."

"Well cut it out. Making the jump from crossdressers to supervillains is the dumbest thing I've heard all day, and that jackass back at school tried to call me 'Batslut' or something."

The journey across the rooftops resumed. But try as she may, Angel could not shake the uneasiness she felt. A new criminal at Gotham University, the anger but conviction of the radio holy man, and the lingering thought of the attacker all in black from the parking garage. She made a sign of the cross during one of the building jumps, a clearer road forward.

[[Apologies on the lateness here. Lots and lots and LOTS of grad school work was eating up my time. Going to try and release more consistently while I've got some more of it now, because I'm excited to be getting deeper into this story.]]


	4. Chapter 4

To say dating Sadie had been a paradigm shift was to oversimplify the matter. To be with her meant to enact all the little rituals and practices Cassandra had seen others doing all the time, but were still foreign to her. Even after the months going out, she was almost never the one to initiate physical contact. She didn't dislike it, of course, but it was always Sadie taking her hand or going in for kisses. Then there were Sadie's friends from school, who were always nice enough, but made Cassandra anxious, thanks to her struggles communicating. It was just the two of them that Saturday night, sitting at a cheesesteak truck across the street from the movie theater.

"You know what's another great thing about you?" Sadie said, licking a wandering drop of cheese sauce from her hand. "You never gripe to me about doing stuff like this."

"Like what?" Cassandra said.

"I used to date this girl, Mel, have I told you about Mel?"

"Once or twice. Small things."

"She hated when I wanted get stuff like this. She was always on some kinda polenta or vitamin water or cactus juice diet. I never ate as much blobby yeast as I did in those three months." Sadie took a big bite out of the hoagie. "Seriously, why don't you ever have any stories like that for me? How have you never dated anyone?"

"I thought I liked someone in Smallville once," Cassandra said, sipping from a bottle of water. "I did like him, just not like you."

"What the heck were you doing all the way out in Smallville? Did you have family out there or something?"

"Something."

Wish a last bite, Sadie finished the cheesesteak, balled up the aluminum it had been served on and tossed it toward a nearby garbage can. It hit the rim but fell to the outside, Sadie sighing to drop it in properly. "Okay, here's the deal, Miss short answer and mysterious, I need to know something else about you before we go see this flick." Her tone was tough but playful.

Cassandra frowned as she digested the thought, taking a bite of her own nearly finished sandwich. "What do you need?"

"You know what, bad phrasing, I'm sorry. I need to know _any_ thing else about you before we go in."

"I don't understand."

"I've known you for almost a year or something now, we've been dating for six months, and I there's a whole bunch of stuff about you I don't know. You're adopted, you're Catholic, you're homeschooled, talking is hard, you're really nice and really cute. That averages out to, like, one thing for each month we've been going out, and I probably knew three or four of those things within the first hour I knew you and we were running out of a subway tunnel."

Cassandra sighed. "My life is just…" she paused, grappling with whether to allude to the truth or lie entirely and how she would do either. Finally, she just decided on, "boring."

"But there's gotta be something you can just tell me about real fast. I dunno, tell me about you and Bruce."

"Bruce?"

"Yeah. How old were you when he adopted you?"

Cassandra bit her lip, deciding to give her first welcoming into his ranks instead of her legal adoption. It took a few seconds of finger counting and memory before she said, "Fourteen."

"That's pretty old to be taken in, most people are usually looking for little kids. Guess he did adopt your brothers when they were already older too… how did that not get any publicity? I remember my brother talking about the news when he took in Dick Grayson. Thought the city's favorite playboy would get some attention trying to take you home with him."

"It wasn't… I wasn't in an orphanage," Cassandra said. "He took me when I ran from my first father. He was a bad man, with many enemies."

Sadie's face was softened by surprise. "Six months and I think that's the first time I've ever heard you talk about one of your birth parents. Enemies as in supervillains, or enemies as in loan sharks?"

"Loan sharks," Cassandra said. The response was a fast one, possibly incriminating in another scenario, but Sadie didn't seem to think much of it.

"And your mom just wasn't in the picture?"

"Never has been."

"You don't have to tell me any more about that," Sadie said. "Bruce just must mean a lot to you then. Just seems like a weird thought. Bruce Wayne just seems like he'd either be loopy or a hardass all the time."

"It is different from others I see and know. We do not talk often, I do not ask for much. But he drives me to church, takes me out to breakfast, some nights we go walking together."

"Huh… all right, that counts," Sadie said. "We can go in now."

Cassandra wasn't especially good at following along with films while they were watching them. That was all right, she liked to hear Sadie laugh when someone did something funny or lean closer for sweet moments. It wasn't always easy for her to keep up, but it was always worth it. The two proceeded into theater 9 to see _First Time for Everything_.

However, something was obviously different that night. Despite her initially sweet position with her arms wrapped around Cassie, Sadie had started to slump about forty five minutes in, occasionally mumbling, "this is boring" or "this sucks." After the first hour of the movie, she followed with, "All right, this movie's a bust, not enough crazy for me. Everyone's being so selfish and dumb. Really a crapshoot on flicks like this."

"Should we go?" Cassandra said.

"I dunno. You did pay for us to sit through this whole thing… the place is practically empty, let me at least make this more interesting." As Sadie spoke, she began twisting a few of the locks at the opposite side of Cassandra's head with one of her fingers. Cassandra looked in the direction, but Sadie kept at it. "Do you trust me?" she said.

"Trust you with what?" Cassandra said.

"I just mean it in general. Do you trust me?"

"I trust you."

"Alright. Sit still for me." In the dark of the movie theater Sadie nuzzled up to her.

Something, Cassandra wasn't sure what, began rubbing up the side of her neck. Whatever it was, it was warm and wet, she shuddered at the feeling. "What was that?"

"Don't worry about it," Sadie whispered. Cassandra turned to look at her as Sadie began first licking, then sucking on the side of her neck. With each action it took Cassandra a split second to regain her composure. First the bottom of the neck, then up toward her chin. Cassandra was fighting a moan: everything felt wonderful, was Sadie just going to keep at it? And yet she was grappling with how much she wanted her to continue. With her whole body overcome with goosebumps and more shaking, Cassandra didn't want her to stop, wanted to plead with her to continue, yet couldn't overcome a feeling Sadie shouldn't be doing what she was. Still, she said nothing.

With two fingers, Sadie peeled back Cassandra's T-shirt just a little, leaned in and sucked at the base of her neck. Cassandra squeezed the armrest of her chair and a tiny moan finally escaped. There came a tiny bite and an instant of ecstasy before Sadie let up, smirking toward her.

"That's gonna leave a mark for a little bit. Maybe don't let your dad see," Sadie said.

There was a moment Cassandra wasn't sure what to do. She remained rooted in her chair, a million thoughts running through her head as her body struggled to return to equilibrium. But the moment passed so quickly Sadie certainly wouldn't notice, and she leaned in, their lips locking as all else around Cassandra slowly returned after a momentary disappearance.

The two held hands and continued giving kisses on the cheeks and lips for the duration of the movie they were barely watching, but Cassandra was still struggling with what had just happened. It felt amazing, maybe unlike anything she'd ever known before.

So why did it also feel like there was a pit growing in her stomach?


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce slid the pair of sunglasses he was wearing down a bit, giving Cassandra a look at the black eye he'd gotten the previous night as he stared down the street from Saint Michael's Cathedral. "Are you all right?" Cassandra asked.

"Hm? My eye? It's nothing. Raided an import of venom last night, one of the handlers decided to give it a try. More importantly, I kept it out of Bane's hands for the time being."

"Should I have been there?"

"You've accumulated a lot of vacation time, Damian and I had it under control."

"Is he doing well?"

"He's still difficult, but I think I'm making progress. I've considered asking you to try converting him, thought it'd give him one more reason not to kill anyone."

Cassandra double took. "Do you mean that?"

Bruce let out a single chuckle. "No. Sorry, I know you're all used to me being brooding and quiet all the time." His eyes turned to the car's clock. "You should probably get moving, you don't want to be late."

It was usually Tim driving the two of them to church on Sundays, but he would occasionally fall victim to a late previous night and swear he'd go later in the week. On mornings like those, Bruce was usually still awake from the previous night's escapades. The two sat in a blue, four-door Ford sedan Bruce had bought specifically to keep from drawing attention in errands like this.

"Could I be late coming out?" Cassandra asked. "Confession after mass today."

"Sure thing." The two sat for a few seconds before Cassandra reached for the door and Bruce asked, "Anything you want to talk to me about?"

"Not on this," she said. "Just the monsignor."

"… It isn't about Sadie is it?" She didn't respond at first. "Cassandra?"

"I don't know."

"If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine. But don't give me another reason to worry about you. I want you going to church to be a good thing, not something weighing you down."

Cassandra sighed. "I just wish I didn't have to lie."

Bruce laid a hand on one of her shoulders and she gave him half a smile. "I want you to remember no one is making you do this, and no one is going to be upset if you need some time to reevaluate things."

Cassandra stepped out of the car, waving to Bruce as he drove off. With another deep sigh she began the block long walk to the cathedral, performing the sign of the cross that all would go well.

The typical hour of mass past as usual. Cassandra still only half understood the songs and sermon as they came and went, but her presence was the most important thing, she felt. Outside of that, her attention always remained on the again, portly monsignor, George Ryan, her first religious teacher and her source of guidance on her holy journey.

When she felt he would understand, at least.

The trickle out of the cathedral always began as soon as Communion had ended. When the congregation had been properly dismissed, Cassandra only had a line of three to wait in before she could speak with the old monsignor. She said a few silent prayers as she came closer and closer through the line, anxiously awaiting her turn. The last woman in front of her in line went on a little longer than the others, but soon enough she too stepped out, smiling at Cassandra as she passed and motioning her in.

With another heavy breath, Cassandra entered the confessional, shut the door behind her and pulled away the curtain separating her from Monsignor Ryan. The old priest already looked tired from the day, his little remaining white hair beginning to frizz, but he beamed at her as she sat down.

"Hello, Cassandra. Always a pleasure to see Gotham's favorite Angel."

"Hello, Father," she said, kneeling down and clasping her hands together for a moment before releasing them for another sign of the cross. "In the name of the father, son and holy spirit. Last confession was…" Cassandra paused, trying to count out the Sundays she had attended.

"Two months ago," Father Ryan said with a little chuckle. "It's all right, I know it's difficult for you." He closed his eyes and began to recite the day's scripture. "Whomever you forgive anything, so do I. For indeed what I have forgiven, if I have forgiven anything, has been for you in the presence of Christ, Amen." The two were briefly silenced before he said, "You may begin when you are ready."

"I fought a robber. He was threatening, but he just wanted to save his home. Not be in the cold."

"But was he trying to steal something?" Monsignor Ryan asked.

"… Yes."

"That isn't a sin, Cassandra," he said.

"I… I judged a man. On the radio. I decided he was evil when I first heard him speak."

"Mmm," the monsignor nodded solemnly. "I see."

"… Father… father there is someone I am seeing."

Monsignor Ryan perked up at this, surprised. "What do you mean by seeing?"

"I… I have… I have a boyfriend," Cassandra said.

"Surely you know that isn't a problem," Ryan said. "If anything, I'm happy for you."

"I… we were out. Seeing a movie, last night… something happened."

At this point, Father Ryan frowned and looked up at her, studying her face as he cheeks started to go red. "Are you all right, Cassandra? What happened."

"S… he… he… he was touching me. My neck… his tongue, his teeth. He bit me. I felt so good, but afraid. Sick. I do not know what happened. I loved it, but I hated it. I—"

"Did you tell him to stop?"

Cassandra looked up at Father Ryan, realizing how rough his look had suddenly gotten. His face was hardened, his eyebrows arched down as far as they would go.

"No," Cassandra said.

With a sigh of relief the Monsignor took a moment to straighten himself, pinching the bridge between his eyes and saying, "I'm sorry. You worried me for a moment… proceed."

"I do not know if it was sinful, if I did something wrong. I just do not like feeling this way."

"Was that all that happened between you and this boy? All that was unusual, at least?" Father Ryan asked.

"Yes."

Father Ryan nodded, rubbing his chin in thought. "It isn't a sin in and of itself, Cassandra, but I'd advise that you be watchful of your friend in the future. And more than that, be willing to talk to him. It sounds to me like his actions would be the beginning of something more… is he Catholic himself?"

"No."

"Mmm. Well then before something like this happens again, you need to make it clear where your boundaries are. The body is a gift that should only be given to the person you marry, and only after you marry them."

Cassandra bit her lip and looked down, saying only, "I know."

"Is there something else bothering you?"

"… No."

"What you say is up to you, Cassandra, but you know this is a safe place. I'm not here to judge you. If you've done anything else and you are sorry, I want to absolve you."

"..." Cassandra held two fingers to her head, massaging her temple as she considered his words. After a few seconds she said, "No. That is all. I am sorry for these sins of my past life."

"All right then. Perform a decade of the rosary for your act of penance and think on how you will avoid matters like these in the future." He bowed his head, Cassandra doing likewise as he prayed, "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you and detest all my sins…"

Cassandra followed along as best as she was able, but her mind lingered on the previous night and all that remained unsaid.


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm going to be out for the next week," Bruce said as Cassandra descended into the cave a few nights later. "League business. Clark's being light on the details, but I think it deals with Mongul. May involve some space travel."

"You certainly have learned to take the oddities of this life in stride, Master Wayne," Alfred said, rounding the corner of the cave.

"Why don't you bring us?" Cassandra said as she approached him at his computer.

"There are places out there worse than Gotham," Bruce said. "This city keeps us busy enough. Tim's in charge of operations, Alfred has override if it's necessary. I want you keeping tabs on Damian."

"I don't need anyone looking after me," Damian said from behind the door of one of the changing rooms. "I've gone on plenty of assignments alone."

"You're not with your mother anymore," Bruce said. "My cave, my costume, my rules." He turned to Cassandra and lowered his voice. "He respects you, at least more than the rest of the team. He and Tim are always at each other's throat and he couldn't care less about Stephanie. I want to get him out of his more violent state of mind, but for the moment we have to work with what we're given."

"I will look after him," Cassandra said.

"Thank you. You've got your assignments, I'll be in touch. Go get changed."

Over the last two weeks Two-Face's gang had reported a dozen disappearances among their ranks, Bruce and Tim slowly piecing together their probable location. "The Olympus has been out of commission since Maxie Zeus's, but he slipped out about a month ago. It's unlike him to act so quickly, but someone's working out of there. Tim and Stephanie are tracking Dent themselves. You two are to investigate what is being done with his men."

The journey toward Amusement Mile was largely uneventful, parking easy, given the final destination itself seemed out of use. The Gotham City Olympus stood atop thirty lower floors of concrete and steel. The image of almighty Zeus wielding a lightning bolt was visible from ground level, but as the neon lights had sustained damage, only barely.

"The club part looks to be blacked out, but it is a big enough building," Robin said as the came to the doors, only to find them locked. To the right was installed a scanner for key cards. "And father hasn't given me a sequencer yet, ugh."

"There are windows," Angel said. "Here and around the sides."

"Yeah, if we want to set off the alarms I guess." Robin stepped back, squinting at the building as he slowly walked its width. "I want to give it a few minutes, see if anyone else turns up. You take that alley, I'll take this one."

The two stationed themselves on the opposite sides of the building, waiting for some sign of life to approach the Gotham Olympus. Even for a city usually busy as Gotham, cars seemed to avoid driving down that road, the area surrounding the building remaining silent.

After twenty minutes that felt like much longer, there came a quiet _creak_ , followed by conversation.

"What'd I tell you about drinking the boss's wine? You gotta be sick in the head before you can even take the way it burns," a first voice said.

"Friggen… friggen Greeks—" with each word out the mouth of the second man came heavy heaves. "Can't barf in the basement—affront to hospitality… really shoulda taken that job working for Firefly—"

He couldn't get any further than that. The second, intoxicated man ran into one of the alleys adjacent to the building, tore the lid off a trash can and vomited. The man, probably only in his early twenties with chestnut hair, struggled to stabilize his breathing as his much taller and heavier companion approached him.

"Feeling any better?" the bigger one asked, patting him on the back.

"Ugh, I just want to go home, Bill."

"I can help you with that."

The taller man named Bill flinched as Angel stepped into clear view further down the alley before going for the gun latched to his belt. "Damn it all! One of the bats is here!"

"I do not want to fight."

"Like hell you don't! Irwin, get the hell up and give me ahead, I've heard about this one dodging bullets."

The intoxicated one, in spite of the shouts of his friend, fumbled around in his pockets, searching for something. The first bullet sent a horrible _bang_ through the alley, but Angel had already slipped back into the darkness. Irwin shouted, but for a minute or so it was drowned out by the ringing in both of their ears. "What the hell did you do that for?"

"She was gonna beat the crap out of us."

"Yeah, which is exactly why I was gonna give her my card."

"Zeus would murder you if he knew you were negotiating with the enemy."

"Well his stupid wine is murdering me already. Whatever man, we can just lay down up here, pretend she knocked us out. It's better than the real thing."

"Are you out of your damn—"

Bill didn't get the chance to finish the thought. A foot smashed into the back of one of his legs, knocking him off balance as a blur of red took a hop on his back, grabbed him by the back of the head and sent him careening into the pavement. All that followed was a groan into unconsciousness as Robin turned to the man remaining in the alley.

The drunken Irwin didn't think much of it as he resumed fishing around in his pockets. "Give me a sec, you can just have the key, I don't mind."

Robin raised an eyebrow. "Are you not afraid?"

"I got cousins in the mob who got beat up by Batman on a regular basis. I'm just here for a paycheck, and even that's not looking so great." Finally he located and drew his pass. "Here. Anybody asks, you knocked me out."

"I already called an ambulance," Angel said as she stepped back into the light. "If you're gone, his men will think they took you."

"Perfect. Pleasure doing business with you kids. Try not to die in there and don't touch any of Zeus's booze. It's nasty stuff."

Robin looked back at him, wrinkles of confusion coming across his face. "That was way too easy."

"Sometimes you don't need violence," Angel said, scanning the card and opening the door for him, the two proceeding into the almost pitch-black of the building's ground floor.

Robin slid a hand to the piece in his ear. "Don't say anything, I'm going to try tracking where we should go." After a few seconds he turned and pointed to the right. "There's noise coming from a few floors down, looks to be all that's going on in this place."

It was almost surprising the elevator came for them, given the seemingly abandoned natured of the rest of the building. Once within the car, Robin again raised the card to a scanner on the wall, granting them access to basement floor three. At first the sound of the rumbling chamber descending deeper and deeper into the earth was all that was audible. But given a minute, the faint sounds of feet and arms beating against the ground and shouts could be heard. When the elevator finally reached the floor, shouts of, "Kill him!" and "Rip him in half!" reached the two as the doors slowly creaked open.

The third basement had a decrepit, industrial feel to it, dripping pipes running through the ceiling and scuffed, black tile on the floor. In the center stood two dozen men around what looked to be some kind of pit, a light within all that was illuminating the room. For the moment, however, most significant were a pair of guards wielding heavy looking guns stood on either side of the door, dressed in vests, black and bulletproof, paying the two no mind.

There was no time to lose, Angel and Robin each dropped and tripped one of the guards with a sweeping kick. Each yelled, Damian's even fired a few rounds into the air, but both were thrown into unconsciousness with a few strikes to their faces.

As the two stood up, both realized the victory was short lived. The gunfire had drawn the attention of the men standing over the pit in the center. Their attention came accompanied by the _clicks_ and shifting of guns, every eye in the room now concentrating on them.

"Hold!" It was practically to be expected: standing at the center of the entourage was a single, tall, muscular figure dressed in what could have possibly been a bedsheet. His long, black hair and beard shown only barely in the dark of the room, but his commanding voice was clear, Maxie Zeus was had indeed made his return. "I see the Batman couldn't be bothered to grace me with his presence himself." Though the rest of his crowd had been silenced, there still came shouts of pain and flesh baring against flesh from the pit beneath him. "Be quiet, you dogs!" And like that, the pounding ceased. "Approach now, both of you. And don't make a move you'll regret." Angel had already reached for her utility belt to retrieve a smoke bomb, but Zeus stopped her with a shout of, "Hands where I can see them."

The two journeyed slowly to the opposite side of the pit Maxie Zeus and his goons stood around, his security lowering their weapons for the moment. In the center were a dozen men, battered and bloody in both their faces and knuckles, five feet down the hole, a ladder on Angel and Robin's side. To Zeus's immediate right stood a man somehow different from the rest: he was short, had a head of black hair and a goatee, was dressed in a suit, tie and a pair of orange sunglasses. He didn't appear to be armed. Angel squinted at him, struggling to identify where she may have seen him before.

"I had ordered the slaves of the deceitful, Trojan god Janus to do battle with one another, the most impressive of the combatants sworn a spot among my ranks." He turned then to the men in the pit. "But I now have a far finer offer. Whoever of you can kill one of the Batman's messengers will be given that distinguished honor instead." As he spoke, Angel noted one of the men on his right side sigh and roll his eyes, as if he had been through this routine a million times. As Zeus continued to sing his own praises, his employee in question slowly, quietly, raised his gun toward them. Mimicking his tiny movements, she leaned closer to Robin, judging the moment to perfection.

"Who should ever bring me one of their bloodied masks will be rewarded with—"

Angel grabbed hold of Robin and threw the two of them into the combat pit, drawing and tossing a smoke bomb thereafter. More gunshots filled the room in confusion and Zeus and Two-Face's men struggled to figure out what had just happened. It took Robin only a few moments to realize what she had done and the two turned their attention to the opposition in the pit. Robin's fists and Angel's dull katana made short work of the shirtless men who had, up until minutes ago, had all been locked in combat with one another.

Still, the fight was not yet over. The smoke was already dissipating and there were still the heavily armed guards remaining. Robin tapped Angel's shoulder, as the bullets had left their ears ringing, and when she turned to him she saw he was pointing toward the room's ceiling, largely at a few of the oversized pipes running all throughout it. With a nod the duo drew their grappling hooks and fired, disappearing from the visibility of the armed crowd.

Every gun in the room was pointed at the pit as Robin and Angel crouched in the shadows atop the pipe, hearing demands of "Where the hell did they go?" as their hearing slowly returned.

"Find them!" Zeus began to search frantically up and down the room. "They can't have gotten far."

Zeus's guards made shouts and investigations of their own. But the bearded man in the suit at his side maintained his calm, neutral stance, as he finally drew attention to himself by tapping on Zeus's shoulder. "With respect, sir, you're not giving them a reason to come out," he said. "You have every weapon in the room on them, of course they're going to hide." As he spoke, be undid and discarded his tie, followed by his jacket. "If you want to kill the two of them, you have to allow them to believe the playing field is even." Tossing aside his button up shirt, Angel could faintly make out a tattoo on his back, its shape like a coiling dragon. He took a step forward and jumped into the pit, grabbing one of the Two-Face henchmen and placing a firm hold on his head. "I'm warning you both! You have five seconds to show yourselves before I snap this one's neck."

Robin would have been content to just wait it out, but this obviously took Angel quickly. "Don't do it," he said. "You're just playing into his hands."

"I don't have a choice."

Angel dropped from the top of the pipe, positioning herself directly in line with the man's head in the hopes of knocking him unconscious. In the last seconds before she hit the ground, he stepped aside, tossing the unconscious man aside as he did.

"Wasn't so difficult, now was it?"

The clicks of raising guns filled the room again, Angel already reaching for another smoke bomb when Zeus objected. "I paid far too much for Drakon's services! If any of you endanger my contract I will smite you where you stand."

Angel glared as him as a reluctant Robin followed her descent. "Constantine Drakon?"

"The one and only. And so long as the almighty is standing up there, I'm also a blood descendant of Ares." Drakon cracked his knuckles and clenched his fists. "I am Greek, so close enough I suppose."

"You're going to regret this," Robin said, "Whoever you are."

"He is one of Green Arrow's," Angel said. "And one of his best."

"Well, time to find out how you kids compare to how they make 'em back in Star City. Let's see what you've got!"

[[I swear I won't keep you guys waiting so long next time.]]


	7. Chapter 7

Robin was the first to respond, fueled by confidence and ignorance regarding his opponent. He went running, Drakon remaining in place as he closed the distance and sidestepped him at the last moment. "You're even smaller than I'm used to," Drakon said. "How old are you kid?"

Robin ignored him, continuing to swing and kick as Drakon began blocking his strikes. Angel remained back a distance, studying Drakon's fighting style. As Robin threw a punch at his face, Drakon slipped to his side, grabbing him in an under-arm grapple lock. Robin fought and struggled, the back of his foot hitting Drakon's legs here and there, but doing no damage.

"You should answer your elders when they speak to you," Drakon said. "I'd killed people by the time I was your size, you know."

It was then Angel intervened. She rushed at him, sure Drakon wouldn't be able to defend himself while Robin was trapped in that hold. Angel jumped, aiming a punch at his face. Drakon's solution was to release Robin and thrust him forward, causing he and Angel to collide. As the heroes regained their balance, Drakon sucker-punched Angel, knocking back a step. Drakon was thrown off when she didn't go to the ground, and with another step she uppercutted him, eliciting a groan of pain. The assassin's recovery was quick though, grabbing ahold of Robin when he threw a kick and putting him to the ground in a single strike. When Angel came at him again the two began a long, lightning-fast exchange of blows and blocks.

"You're smarter than he is,' Drakon said. "He's already decided I'm another madman like you face every day."

"I know about you," Angel said, catching both his fists, twisting it slowly against his protest. "You only kill for fun. You are mad."

Drakon grit his teeth against the twist, but within seconds it turned to a smile. "I didn't say I'm not mad. I said I'm not _typical_!" With that he threw himself forward, headbutting her and forcing her to release her hold. As Angel regained her balance, Drakon backhanded her, knocking her onto the floor.

"I used to hear talk about the Batman's associates," he said, stepping closer. "All the way out to Star City, there was talk of 'The Quiet One.' They say she is darkness incarnate, moving through this city without making a single sound. No voice, no face, just a whirlwind of pain for any who should confront her."

Angel said nothing, reaching for her belt and throwing three batarangs at him. With a nearly inhuman speed, Drakon caught one in each hand, the other giving him a slice to the cheek, but seemingly only amusing him more. With a flick he threw the weapons back, Angel regaining her footing as she dodged.

"I don't know how many young women the Batman has on his payroll," Drakon said. "But I have been told there is someone new in the uniform the Quiet One once wore. And you just blocked nearly every strike I—"

Drakon stopped and shouted as he fell to a half-kneel, Robin standing directly behind him after kicking him in the back of his knee and knocking half his weight out from under him. With another kick Robin knocked him to the ground, circled around and trapped him in a headlock on the floor.

"You forgot about me," Robin said, gritting his teeth. "Big mistake."

"No, boy." With a push, Drakon returned to his feet and ran backwards into the wall of the pit, slamming Robin into the wall and eliciting a shout of pain, causing his grip to loosen. "Your mistake." With that, Drakon reached around and ripped Robin from his back, smashing him into the floor. For a moment he considered beating him further, but instead stepped back toward Angel. "My point is, I believe you are the Quiet One."

Angel and he shared a glare for a few seconds before she asked, "Does it matter?"

"If you truly are one of Gotham's finest, then I'm going to be a legend when I kill you!"

Angel drew her katana as Drakon rushed her again. With a sidestep Angel got a clear shot and beat against his side with the weapon. Drakon only laughed.

"A dulled sword? Worthless, completely worthless."

As if to contradict him, Angel landed a blow to the side of his head. The force was enough that Drakon showed pain upon his face and held his forehead, as if dazed. Angel followed this with a kick to the side of his stomach and another to the front, knocking out his breath. The next swing of her sword, however, Drakon caught between his palms.

"Maybe you are as good as they all say."

When his clench seemed its strongest, Angel released the blade, forcing Drakon to shift his center of gravity. In the moment she was allotted Angel thrust two fingers of both hands into his pectorals, eliciting a shout of pain and what appeared to be loss of clench in his arms. Drakon stepped back, shaking out his arms and trying to recover feeling as she pursued him. When feeling had returned, Drakon gave her a wily smile as he reached behind him and grabbed ahold of Robin, trapping the tired child quickly in a choke hold.

"Careful now," Drakon said. As Robin began to kick and struggle, Drakon laid his free hand upon his head of black hair. "I've snapped younger necks, little angel."

Angel drew a batarang, but Drakon only seemed to tighten his grip. Robin kicked and even bit at his arm hard enough to draw blood, but Drakon seemed disinterested.

Angel held his glare. "What do you want?"

"I want to be able to brag to Deathstroke and Cain that I killed one of Gotham's finest."

Angel flinched. "Cain? You know David Cain?"

"Oh yes, I know that bastard all too well… not sure what it has to do with anything—"

Questions of that strange night the previous week ran through Cassandra's head. Drakon knew Cain, might even still be in contact with him. He might know what was going on with the two that attacked her. But, as she swiftly remembered, she had someone else to worry about at the moment.

"Put him down."

"Why should I? You're a child and I may not be able to beat you in a fair fight. May as well even the odds however I can."

Robin was struggling, both to be free and to even inhale. At any moment, Drakon could decide to just finish him off. Maybe he was afraid of how Angel would respond, maybe he just wanted to brag more. Angel struggled for some kind of solution, some way to turn the tides.

In a moment, all the lights in that lower chamber went out. This was followed by shouts of confusion from Zeus's men. Someone shouted they had a lighter and went to work trying to bring some illumination back to the chamber.

"I can still see you, by the way," Drakon said, though he was no longer visible. "The glasses have made me accustomed to the darkness, and either way, white simply isn't a good color for your line of work."

Though Angel remained trapped in place, there came noise from above. Fists clashing against faces, something zipping through the air. Maxie Zeus demanded to know what was going on before he gasped twice and could be heard collapsing amongst the sounds flying by, which Angel realized sounded like a drawstring and arrows.

"Damn it all, how did—" A blunt force rebounded against Drakon's face, forcing him to release Robin, who hit the ground gasping for breath. There came a few more shots like it, but Drakon retreated from the pit as fast as he was able. Within minutes, still wondering what was going on, Angel and Robin could see the dim light of the elevator as Drakon retreated inside.

The unseen savior dropped into the pit, Robin already on guard again but Angel squinting to see who it was. As he stepped closer, he flicked on the lighter he had stolen from one of Zeus's henchmen and raised it to his face, revealing a skin of light brown and a short head of blonde hair. With a playful smile he moved the lighter toward Robin, who stepped back in confusion. "You got shorter," he said. Then he raised the light toward Angel. "And from what Dad told me, I thought you'd be blonde. And white."

Robin looked to Angel, "You know him?"

"Sure they're all knocked out up there?" Angel asked.

"None of them are still conscious, no."

"Then it is good to see you, Connor."


	8. Chapter 8

At night's end, Connor Hawke accompanied Cassandra and Damian back to Wayne Manor. He and Tim exchanged a handshake before a hug in the Batcave as everyone met up for the night. "Haven't seen you around here in ages," Tim said.

"Well, Star City is always busy. I know they don't make them as colorful on the west coast, but I still have my hands full."

"Why are you here then?" Damian was still eyeing him.

"I was following Drakon. With how many connections he has around the underworld, we wanted to make sure he wasn't trying to meet up with anyone to plot something bigger. I think Maxie Zeus probably just offered him a fat paycheck and the chance to pick up some renown fighting Batman." He turned back to Tim. "By the way, I heard you're operating under a new name now. Does Bruce have a lawyer ready if a certain hamburger chain decides you've infringed their copyright?"

Stephanie laughed as Tim rolled his eyes. "I've given him a lot of crap over the name already. I think he's planning to get us both back if we do it any more."

Tim walked toward the opposite end of the cave, pulling off his domino mask, cape and beginning to free himself from his uniform proper. It was almost entirely black, save for a large, Nightwing-inspired red V down the center and a small, yellow bird's head in the middle of it. As he changed, he grumbled about continuing to be the butt of everyone's jokes.

Cassandra stepped forward into his place. "How long will you stay?"

"Until I can bring Drakon back with me," Connor said. "I was hoping I could stay here, if that's all right."

"My only condition is you leave my name out of this!" Tim called from across the cave, making Stephanie laugh again.

"Glad you finally earned yourself a promotion, Stephanie," Connor said.

"Oh it's great, thanks a bunch. I had to beat the ever-living crap out of one of the former Robins and rub Bruce's face in it, but it's all worth it."

He then turned to Cassandra. "And then there's you. There's something different about you, Cassandra, but I'm not sure what." She smiled and let out a little laugh. "I think your understanding of humor has gotten better since the last time I was in Gotham, at least. Think you would have just stared at me before."

"Many things happened. Most important, I found God."

…

"Listen folks, I'm not saying I think compassion is a bad thing. I like to think I'm a very compassionate man. But I pay my taxes like everybody else, and I think there's a better use for my money than handing out to people who aren't willing to earn their keep. It's tough love, it's a hard lesson for some people to learn, but you know what the good book has to say about this? 'If any will not work, neither let them eat.' That's Thessalonians, my airwave congregation. Their hearts are in the right place, don't get me wrong, but they say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

"… What are you listening to?"

Cassandra jumped from her position lying in bed and turned down the digital radio on her bedside table as Connor stood in her barely-open doorway. It was about noon, the family slowly emerging from sleep. "I did not know you were there."

"I know you mentioned last night you converted to Christianity last year, but this wasn't exactly what I imagined." As he spoke, Connor walked slowly into the sparsely decorated room. Cassandra never had much taste or interest for ornament, the room consisting only of her large bed, bedside table and dresser, on which there were a few framed photographs.

"Not like that," Cassandra said, rubbing her forehead as Connor walked into the room. "We are not even the same kind… I do not know why I listen."

"Are you sure you don't know?" Connor looked between her and the radio, trying to seem gentle. "Or is it something you don't want to talk about?"

Cassandra looked to the ground, avoiding his eyes and biting her lip. "I am afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of being a bad Christian. That God is not happy with me."

Connor leaned against the wall, his silence implying contemplation. "Why do you think that?"

"Do you believe?"

"I'm a Zen Buddhist, have been all my life. But I don't think that means I won't understand. Being a good listener and trying to reduce the suffering of others are two of my tenants."

Cassandra sighed. "I worry the fighting is not helping. I worry if I make the right choices… did you know it is a sin for me to love another girl, Connor?"

"I think about everyone knows that about Christianity."

"I didn't. I didn't even know I felt that way until after I found decided I wanted to be Catholic. I wanted to believe God was telling me it was all right. But if it was, why would people like him say it is not?"

"The man from the radio?" Connor asked. "What does he know that you don't?"

"His name is Cameron Gram. He has prayed all his life, he has been to other countries to teach… while I converted, I fought a horrible man who bent God's word for himself… what if I am doing that too?"

Connor walked over to Cassandra's dresser and picked up a line of tiny, laminated pictures from one of the photo booths at the mall. "Is this her then?" he asked, pointing to Sadie. Cassandra nodded. "Not to sound like my father, but I actually thought you felt something for me when we used to work together. Well, I don't know how much I can offer you, but I might have an idea. Do you meditate?"

"I used to. Mostly I pray, now."

"All right, I have a suggestion then." Connor sat down on the floor, motioning Cassandra do the same and she did. "I want to try talking you through a meditation, and maybe you'll be able to see things clearer afterwards. For this, I think it needs to just be you and me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm going to ask you to put God away for a moment. That you and I are the only two here and you are all that matters. I know that might be a difficult request, I'm sure it's—"

"Connor," Cassandra said, looking up at him. "I lived most of my life without God. I do not think it will be hard to separate a few minutes."

"Oh." Connor was surprised, but not displeased. "Well, that's helpful. Okay, lotus position." Cassandra crossed her legs and clasped her hands. "Close your eyes and breathe in slowly."

Cassandra sat silently, taking his instructions silently and taking deep breaths through her nose and exhaling through her mouth.

"Fine your center of gravity, release the tension in your body."

"It has been a while," Cassandra said quietly as her position shifted. As she tried to find the center Connor had described, he said nothing. Within a few minutes of adjusting she said, "Done."

"I'm waiting for your breathing to stabilize. Then I'll give you your next step."

Thanks to the endless nights out of Gotham's streets, pacing herself for whatever opponent came her way, Cassandra reached the rhythm Connor was waiting for quickly.

"In this moment, my voice is just noise. The criminals are just noise. The man on the radio, your girlfriend, God, they are all a million little noises that you cannot control. Chaotic lives in a chaotic life. You cannot change that."

For a moment, Cassandra clenched, as if the thought had challenged her.

"You can only control yourself. And others can only control themselves. The world isn't going to change for us, we have to be willing to change for the world. We are leaves in the wind."

Cassandra's breath and body had returned to its calm, collected state.

"Just take a moment to think about who you are. What you believe, what you do to lessen suffering, how it is best to accept the challenges of life."

The two remained in almost complete silence for nearly five minutes before Cassandra opened her eyes and unfolded her legs. "Thank you."

"Do you feel better?"

"For the moment… it is different. My faith teaches we pray for those who suffer and for ourselves. We fight to end it, yes, but that only God can truly take it right."

"I know my faith's model isn't exactly perfect, especially when we're going out and fighting against the flow of the wind every night, but I hope my perspective could give you another look at life."

Cassandra gripped the cross around her neck. "If I believed as you do, I could ignore Gram and would be able to be with Sadie without fear. But it would mean I must see God differently, doesn't it?"

"Buddhism takes many forms, adapting to whatever culture it is planted around. At least my branch does. But to be truly free, to do as I have said, you need to be able to let go of everything. Even God."

"I do not think I can do it forever."

"I never said forever. I don't know if this is right for you. We're only talking about this one moment."

"I know." Cassandra stood up walked to Connor, wrapping her arms around him as he pulled her in for a hug. "And maybe it helped me. Thank you."


	9. Chapter 9

"So for the last couple nights, Tim and me have been trying to keep up with that speedster you beat up a few days ago." Stephanie said, leaning against the wall of the elevator leading to her and Tim's Batcave away from the Batcave. "You can probably imagine trying to follow the movements of a guy who can zip through the city faster than we can drive would be a bit of a pain."

"Have you found him?" Cassandra asked.

"We think so. Little hard to fight with a guy who moves faster than security can get a good look at him, but we at least have a good guess. We have two blurry clips of him rushing the Gotham Merchant's bank, but he left without getting anything. Probably got as far as the vault and realized he wasn't strong enough to bust it down."

"Why would he come back?"

"Dunno, but he might be back, so I want to see about ambushing him if he turns up again." The elevator gave a _Ding_ as the two stepped into the bunker.

It was a far cry from Bruce's design: a large, open space, the lights bright enough to give the room a sterile look. Batarangs, staffs and other manner of weapons lined tables along the walls, two black cycles decorated with red or purple and multiple costumes worn by mannequins at the end of the room. More like a garage than a cave.

Tim was out with Connor trying to piece together Drakon's location and Damian was on a forced night off via message from Bruce. This left Cassandra and Stephanie watching out for another attack by Slipstream.

"I'm not saying Gotham isn't still crazy, but I'll take the speedsters trying to rob banks over the weird stuff like religious cultists and Joker taking hostages and all that stuff," Steph said.

"Much better."

…

The reality of the situation was that Slipsteam had been in over his head when he first attempted to break into the vault at the Gotham Merchant's Bank. But the second time he had come, he had just been testing the material and investigating a countermeasure. With the two attacks already on record, additional security was already surrounding the bank. Slipsteam had now accounted both for this and for the door of the vault. Five police officers had converged after the alarm sounded, hiding a block away in anticipation of another attack. All of them would later describe being attacked by the same man, sometimes two or three of them, attacking them, garbed in a suit of silver armor with green trim on his shoulders.

Within minutes the forces had seemingly dwindled to one, who approached an officer on the verge of unconsciousness. "Now how could one guy have attacked you from all those places at once? You're hallucinating, officer. Must just be a Figment of your imagination."

"You wait all night to bring out that one, jackass?" Slipstream asked.

"Don't you dare take this away from me." Between both of their distorted voices, each sounded more mechanical than human. "Is that vault open yet."

Within ten seconds Slipstream vanished and reappeared, seemingly in the same blur. "Melody's still working on it."

"May as well get in there then. Nothing better to—"

Figment shouted in pain as a surge of electricity blasted through his suit, forcing him to the ground. Slipstream looked up and took his stance Angel and Batgirl stepped clearly into view.

"If you need some better entertainment, I think we'd be happy to oblige," Batgirl said, sliding another electric Batarang between her fingers. Slipstream's sidestep as she threw looked more like a teleport to the naked eye as he helped his partner to his feet.

"Are these the two from the last time?" Figment asked.

"Yeah. They're good, least as far as chicks in suits go."

"There's the casual sexism again, Angel," Batgirl said. "You're just making me want to rip off that mask and pound in your face."

It was then Figment stepped forward and cracked his gloved knuckles. "Let's see how many of mine you can hit first."

Within moments the criminal had multiplied himself four times, his new forms appearing seemingly from nowhere. Both women exchanged confused looks for a moment, but were on guard the next. Two Figments attacked each of them, beginning with a strike to the front they each easy dodged, but then attacking off to the side. Both dodged these out as well, but emphasized the pace of the fight to both of them. Angel drew her katana, Batgirl her staff.

The two had been outnumbered many times, but Figment's assault was highly concentrated. A strike to one was followed immediately with another lunging toward them. It wasn't that he was especially skilled, but his numbers allowed him to remain unpredictable. Soon enough, Angel defeated one with a kick and strike of her sword, but moments later two more simultaneously kicked her in the lower back, knocking her to the pavement. Batgirl took the cue to improve her guard, though right after dispatching one with a staff thrust to the face, two more punched her in the stomach and a third floored her with an elbow to the back of the head.

"Sheesh, must be convenient being everywhere at once," Slipstream said. As he spoke another Figment appeared behind him and slapped the back of his head. "Ow! What the hell?"

"It'd be over even quicker if you'd get your hands dirty."

"Oh no, I took these two on once. I just want to see 'em get beat."

As they spoke the two heroes pushed back to their feet. The four Figments looked to be ten now, five of whom surrounded each of them.

"Guess the Bat didn't teach you when to stay down."

Angel threw herself at the nearest Figment, backhanding him with the hand she held her sword with before turning around and countering the next two that rushed her, dropping the blade and smashing their heads together. "He taught us not to."

"Good one!" Batgirl called over her own attack, spinning as fast as she was able to dodge and get a quick strike in at any of her attackers.

"Look at you two, just not getting it." Figment said. With that, two of them moved from their positions surrounding Batgirl as two more kicked her in the stomach. Stephanie was forced back, gasping for breath when she bumped into Angel, both realizing the Figments had formed a complete, ten-man circle around them.

"Of all the things in this city you could be fighting, it's us." The ten were now speaking simultaneously, a twinge of discomfort running through Batgirl and Angel. "Killers, muggers, people screwing around with the weather, we're just trying to fight a corrupted financial system. It's not right big wigs like Wayne and Cobblepot keep getting richer and richer in this city."

"Oh great. It's an entire team of itty bitty Anarkys," Batgirl retorted.

"We're just trying to make Gotham a better place. Somebody's gotta pay for it."

"Hey man, keep that do-gooder crap to yourself." Slipstream called. "You don't speak for the whole team. I'm getting' the hell out of here soon as we've got that cash."

As he spoke there came a thunderous _Boom_ from within the Gotham Merchant's bank. For a moment the world seemed silent, and once the sound returned Figment said, "Looks like we hit paydirt. Gotta wrap this up." With that, the ten Figments converged.

"You got any ideas?" Batgirl asked.

"No. You?"

"It's not very good. I was hoping you'd have something better. But I guess we don't have a choice."

As the ten rushed in, Angel took to dodging and striking back at whatever attacks she could, but was quickly overwhelmed by just how many fists came flying at once, multiple hitting her face and gut. Batgirl took a different tactic, dropping her staff and drawing a pair of electrified batarangs from her belt. Wielding them like a pair of knives, she slashed at any Figment she could, noting the shouts of pain with whoever she came in contact with and that they seemed to freeze in place for a few seconds when she did so. It wasn't perfect, by any means, but it seemed to stem the assault, at least for a few seconds at a time.

"Electricity slows him down!" She called to Angel. "Go for something shocking."

Angel too drew her weaponry and followed her friend's orders. Though still outnumbered, fighting perhaps three at once each while the other two were stunned was certainly preferable.

With a moment between dodges, Angel took a slide and delivered a front snap kick to one of the Figments she had stunned. The force was enough to send his helmet flying off, but Angel stared in confusion and disgust when she saw it was hollow on the inside.

"Don't tell me you're surprised," one of the still mobile Figments said, sucker punching Angel while she was distracted, a dull ringing now in the back of her head. "Please, did you really think I'd handle you both personally? These drones are all controlled remotely. You can't win if my real body is still standing, and let me assure you, it's far, far away from here."

Batgirl knocked the taunting Figment away with a slash of electricity and a punch, allowing her to stand at Angel's side again. Both were already tiring out, breaths heavy and hearts racing.

"Well, my idea kinda worked. Didn't exactly turn the tides," Batgirl said. "You have anything left?"

"Find the real body?"

"But he just said it isn't here… I mean, unless he's lying—"

The ten Figments rushed towards the heroes again, forcing their conversation to come to an abrupt stop.

A moment later, however, they too came to a direct stop.

"What the—who the hell are you?" Figment said, to seemingly no one in particular.

"Who the hell is who?" Slipstream asked.

"Damn it. Slip, looks like the homeowner came back—" There was a gasp from each of the Figments as every eye looked on in confusion. Then a shout of pain. "What's your problem man?"

"Figment? Figment, talk to me man!" Slipstream shouted. "What's going on?"

"Seriously," Batgirl said. "What _is_ going on?"

"I said I'd get out!" Figment's had become shaky and frantic. "What are you—stop! Don't—"

Two noises came next: a shatter of glass and a bloodcurdling scream.

Across the street, a body came careening out of the seventh floor window of a rundown old apartment. A final Figment, dressed like the rest, flailed helplessly as he headed for the ground. Angel knew she couldn't do anything to assist him, but in that moment it didn't matter. She ran toward him, fast as she could.

Another Figment punched through a window on the third floor, extending his hand and catching the other, but losing his grip within moments. It was at least enough to slow the first one's fall, but when he finally hit the ground, the bones crackling was audible and he let out a last howl before he fell unconscious.

The rest of the Figments disappeared as Angel made it to him, heart racing, and pulled up his head to listen for breaths. She uttered a silent _Thank you_ when she heard them.

"What the hell just happened?" There came another voice from the bank, running to join the still-frozen Slipstream. She was dressed in some skintight black material, wielding a pair of golden gauntlets and goggles over her face. What little skin was visible was brown, and in both hands she held sacks stuffed with bills.

"Somebody just decided to interfere," Slipstream said. Within ten seconds he rushed into and back out of the bank, his arms full of bills. "Figment's down, we need to get out of here."

"What? We can take those two!"

From a few blocks away, police sirens could be heard. "They're not all I'm worried about," Slipstream said. "I'm running us out of here."

"We can't leave him behind—"

"We don't have a choice."

The two of them disappeared in a wave of black and white motion before Stephanie could even shout, "Stop!" and had instead to mumble, "Damn it." With the scene seemingly cleared, she walked over to Angel, who was pulling at Figment's helmet until it was free. His hair was short and brown, braces covered his teeth.

"God… I… I think I might go to school with him," Stephanie said, shaking her head. "And that first guy was harassing the football team… is everyone in Gotham U dressing up at night?" She put a hand on Cassandra's shoulder. "Is he gonna be all right?"

"He is breathing. For now. He will need a doctor."

"Yeah, for sure." Stephanie turned toward the sirens. "I'll see about getting an ambulance over here. Say a prayer for me."

"Always."

…

If not for the critical condition the fight had left Figment in, Angel or Batgirl would have investigated the situation further. Looked for a sign of who had thrown him out the window and why. As they assisted the paramedics in loading his body, two figures looked down at them.

"What do you think?" Lipov asked. "How long do you think she could have lasted if we'd left them alone?"

Odmience said nothing, only turned and locked eyes with him.

"I'd say she was doing pretty well, but I think you'd have done better," Lipov said with a shrug. "That kid was pretty good with those toys of his, for a rookie… perhaps we'll discuss them another time."

Odmience took a step forward and laid a clenched fist against Lipov's chest.

"You'll fight her again soon. I promise. We'll just need to secure the guest of honor first."


	10. Chapter 10

Cassandra had that Thursday night off. As usually happened, she spent it with Sadie.

The dynamic around her house in the suburbs was a different, but pleasant one. Sadie had never really said much about her mother, and Cassandra had only seen her once when she helped Sadie move out. She was a tired, sullen woman, matching the few descriptions of years of alcohol Sadie had brought up now and again. Cassandra assumed that she probably always looked angry, even when she wasn't.

Sadie's cousin and his wife, Peter Ingram and Charlene, were both well-to-do civil attorneys who met and married back in law school. They had a son Cassandra had seen rarely over the summer, but he was spent most of the year off at university somewhere else.

Cassandra and Sadie sat in the living room, talking with Charlene as Peter prepared stir fry in the kitchen. The walls were done all in red, the couches were colored beige and one corner held a bookshelf of exceptionally thick books on law and presidents that were mostly just for show. The only other thing of note were the various photographs and paintings hung up on the wall, ranging from riversides and gazebos to bombastic abstracts full of color. Most notable because Sadie had taken and painted several of them.

"I think Pete just pities me," Sadie had said a few months before.

"I'm telling you I think they're excellent," Peter said. "When my friends from the office come over, they sometimes ask me where they came from. And I tell them my cousin made them and it makes me prouder than any case I've won."

Cassandra knew he was being generous, but she also knew Sadie's work really was excellent. Unlike the films Sadie would insist on going to, Cassandra could actually somewhat understand her artwork. Or at least understand how beautiful what looked to be dozens of colors flowing into any natural arc or shape Sadie saw fit was.

"Homeschooling still going all right?" Charlene asked.

"It is fine. Keeps me busy," Cassandra said. In reality, lessons with Alfred and chats online with Barbara had been on the decline for a while. Cassandra could read and write just well enough to keep up appearances, which Bruce had said was more than he had even anticipated. And that having interactions with people like Sadie's relatives would be a better method of improving her speech than anything he could teach her outright.

"That sounds pretty great right now," Sadie said. "The school year has barely started and it seems like all my teachers are already ticked off all the time. Wondering if some of them aren't going out and getting beaten up by Batman at night."

"I told you not to talk like that," Charlene said, rolling her eyes. "You don't know what awful people those are." She turned toward Cassandra. "You can't imagine. I don't even work the criminal cases, but I work with their families sometimes. They're painfully unhealthy people."

"I have heard that a lot," Cassandra said.

"I still don't think a gang of roving vigilantes is a good answer to that problem at all, but there are a lot of people who would be dead if not for the Batman and his company. It's not a great permanent solution, but at least it's something."

It had been decided and agreed upon there would be no talk of Sadie's own encounter with Gotham's underground. Peter and Charlene didn't need a reason to worry, and as Sadie put it, "Whatever they hit me with makes it seem more like an awful dream. It's not exactly tramautic when it seems too weird to have even been real.

Charlene wore her forty's well, sporting blonde hair cropped short enough to not require any real management (though still longer than Sadie's Pixie cut,) black rimmed glasses and a tight smile. Her suits kept her glued to a computer or a legal pad even when she was in conversation, but she did always seem genuinely interested.

Peter stepped into the living room from the kitchen and gave a loud sigh, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I think we're ready. Can I pour anyone anything?"

"Glass a wine every day is good for you, you know," Charlene said.

"Sure, sure. Sadie? Cassie?"

"Water."

"Yeah, water's fine. Stir fry's salty anyway."

One night, while Cassandra and Sadie had been out with Tim and Stephanie, Tim had pressed Sadie about her relation back to peter, confused about how their ages lined up.

"You said he's in his forties," Tim said.

"He is. Forty two a few months ago."

"I mean… that's a big difference."

"Not that Tim isn't being kind of weird about it," Stephanie said, "But it is. I have cousins, most of them are, like, within three, five, maybe seven years of me. He's not your second cousin or anything?"

"Nope. My dad was the baby of his family, I'm the baby in mine. An unplanned baby, if my mom's to be believed." Both Tim and Stephanie flinched as she spoke, but Sadie just shrugged. "You know, whatever. Who really, _really_ plans for these things, right?"

If Cassandra had any interest, she could have articulated a very personal response. But it was better that remain untouched.

Peter and Charlene both sipped their wine, Peter telling Sadie and Cassandra to go ahead and serve themselves first. Cassandra dipped her head, shut her eyes and made a sign of the cross before scooping up the rice, chicken and vegetables. She was the only person of faith to occasionally be in the house, but neither party thought anything of the other for it.

Since first being exposed to outside contact, Cassandra had, in her own way, always wondered if the homes and families presented in advertisements and other images ever actually existed. If people actually did come together around tables to actually eat and talk with one another at the end of long days. There had been rare times in Wayne Manor she and her siblings had done so, but the thought Sadie did this all the time was a new one.

Cassandra didn't say much, but collected whatever she could from their exchanges. Talk of school, an adoption case, whether the deck needed new furniture. Cassandra really didn't understand a lot of it, but in an odd way, she was very happy to be present.

"Did Sadie show you those pieces she submitted to that school out in Chicago?"

As soon as Peter finished the sentence, Sadie hacked and coughed at the water she was drinking. When it didn't die down in a few seconds, Cassandra hit Sadie on the back twice before her breathing finally settled. Her breaths were still heavy as she wiped her mouth with her napkin, scowled at Peter and said, "No. I haven't."

As the situation slowly reached Cassandra, she asked, "What is he talking about?"

Now it was Peter whose eyes widened for a moment. "You said you'd told her already. I thought you said she was fine with it."

Sadie didn't respond at first, looking down at her plate and holding her forehead. "Yeah. I know I said that." Rubbing her forehead, Sadie looked up at Cassandra. "I didn't mean for you to find out about this. It's not that big of a deal. I'm pretty sure I'm not getting in anyway."

Charlene took a sip from her glass and pushed up her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. "You know, this is why we asked you if you'd said anything already. This is exactly what we were trying to avoid."

Cassandra sank into her chair a little.

"And you guys just wouldn't believe me when I kept saying I'd do it on my own time," Sadie said. After a few seconds of reluctance, Sadie turned to Cassandra. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything… I know it isn't you guys' fault I just… I don't know."

"… Chicago is far away," Cassandra said.

"Yeah," Sadie picked at her food, as if to distract herself. "It's far away."

Dinner was finished shortly thereafter. There were a few attempts at conversation, but it wasn't long before Cassandra said she was tired and Sadie agreed she should be driven home for the night.

It was about twenty-five minutes to Wayne Manor from Peter and Charlene's house. Sadie usually talked for a lot of any drive back and Cassandra would smile and nod. This night, the silence was largely mutual.

Sadie first attempted to break it as they drove past the skeleton of a huge, dome-shaped building three miles outside of Gotham's downtown. "Finally heard what that thing's going to be." Cassandra didn't respond. "One of those mega churches."

"Yes?" Cassandra said.

"I don't get it. I guess if it makes people happy, whatever, but we've got how many churches in Gotham already?"

"Five-thousand." That number wasn't leaving Cassandra's head any time soon.

"You're religious, I'm not, you tell me, do we really need a big eyesore around here that looks more like a Jesusy concert hall than any of those places with an ounce of dignity downtown?"

"You are avoiding Chicago."

Sadie drove two miles in silence, out of the suburbs and toward the hills, before she said, "I know I am. I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me? I would be happy for you."

"Because, as you pointed out, Chicago's a long ways away," Sadie said. "And wherever I'm going after I graduate, I just want to be able to enjoy spending time with you." Sadie set a hand on Cassandra's knee and squeezed gently. "There was never going to be a good time to tell you and I didn't want to mess up any night we had. I'm sorry for that."

At another squeeze, sighed, rested her head against the window and took Sadie's hand into one of hers. The two held hands silently until the car arrived at the manor's gate.


	11. Chapter 11

_Knock knock knock_.

 _Slide._

"Password?"

"You're really going to waste my time with this?"

"Password or I can't let you in, pal."

"Janus is Judgement."

 _Slide_.

 _Click click clank_.

"You're good. Come on in."

"You Gothamites are pathetic." Drakon beat his shoes against the floor as he stepped in, glancing at Robinson Park, standing across the street like a miniature forest for a moment. "You get these stupid themes in your heads and make yourselves so damn predictable."

The doorman, a tall but round man, chewing on a toothpick, looked him up and down. "What the hell are you doing responding to the call then?"

"Good money. My last gig ended a bit too prematurely, and I've heard Dent is paying double right now." Drakon shared the doorman's examination, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses at the two halves of black and white suits he was wearing crudely stitched together.

The building itself was a well-lit studio, statues and paintings covering the walls and floor, naturally displaying various dichotomies. To the right were classically-styled frescos, imitations of Grecian marble statues and a wall painted an almost irritating shade of white. To the left the wall was painted in black, surreal, violent images hung in their frames and the sculptures took on a sharper, more dangerous look. Drakon muttered something to himself his guide didn't hear.

"The boss is upstairs."

"Second floor right?" The contempt in Drakon's voice was audible.

"You hate this city so much, why'd you come here?" The chubby doorman led him to the stairs.

Drakon didn't reply, and the two walked to the second floor, silent. When they came to a second door they were present with another door. The chubby man fumbled around in his coat pocket for a key and cracked it open just enough to peek his head through. "Sir, we've got that guy you asked for."

"Good. Send him in." The voice within was gravely, but not quite the uneven snarl Drakon usually heard described.

The door gave way to another room, decorated much like the first floor. Drakon noted a replica of _David_ to his right and a severely damaged replica, maybe Egyptian, to his left. At the end of the long room paintings of roses, white and red, decorated the two sides of a figure standing before an imitation of a relief from Waltham Abbey, depicting the two-faced god Janus.

The figure, dressed the same as his cohort, flipped a coin as Drakon approached him. "I heard you killed your first man when you were a child."

"And I heard you on the TV, you don't sound the same in person," Drakon said and stepped closer.

"Prison cells. Always add some unwanted reverb," the figure said.

Drakon continued to muse as he stepped closer. "Why the hell would the hair on the back of your head be bleached? I thought that guy hit you in the face."

"Dyed, actually. I like to stay consistent."

Drakon stood only a step behind him now as he continued to flip the coin. The tiny _click_ of the door locking behind them was just barely audible. The man flipping the coin slid a hand into his jacket.

The hitman thrust his palm into the back of the figure's head and he shouted, not as gravely as before. A pistol hit the ground as the dazed man was swiftly trapped in a headlock at his side.

A bullet rang through the room, Drakon turned and faced the man at the door. "Bullock, right?"

"How the hell did you know?"

"The real Two-Face would have had at least two guards, wouldn't he? That was my first suspicion." Drakon tightened his grip, holding the imposter toward Bullock as he stooped and stole his gun. "You think you can outdraw one of the world's finest hired hands then, Lieutenant?" He looked down at the lookalike in his lock. "How young did you say I was when I first killed somebody?" The room was silent for a few seconds aside from the grunts and struggle from Two-Face's duplicate. "You gonna unlock the door?"

Bullock and Drakon shared a glare for a few seconds before Bullock slowly lowered his gun. "Take it easy. We don't want any trouble."

Drakon remained in place another few seconds before moving in a whirl, pointed the gun at the painting of Janus and unloaded several rounds. The painting, revealed to just be a large, printed poster, tore at each side as Angel and Robin ran out from it. Bullock's support kept Drakon flanked on three sides.

"You must have thought I was some kind of idiot," Drakon said and returned the pistol of his captive's head. "That I wouldn't know the difference between one of Gotham's most annoyingly insistent acts and a police sting."

In each of Robin's hands was a batarang, Angel had a hand to her sword. Still, the imposter struggled. "Somebody wanna give me a hand here? Any time now!"

"Let him go," Angel said.

"Your fight is with us," Robin took a step forward.

"Let him go easy, pal. Or you're never seeing the outside of his room again."

Drakon didn't give any attention to all of the noise. Above all else he was concentrating, waiting on one sound above all of the rest. His singular single to act. No one else in the room heard the drawstring as it was pulled back, but it was all Drakon was waiting for.

The assassin ducked. The blunted arrow flew through the air and hit Bullock in the face, knocking him to the ground in a shout of pain. Green Arrow tore aside the shredded remains of the poster and pulled back another arrow, but Drakon had already thrown his captive toward Bullock. He ran to the right, backhanding Robin out of his way and jumped through the window. The three vigilantes approached the broken glass as Drakon ran toward the park across the street.

"Damn it all, best laid plans, am I right?" Bullock grumbled.

Robin and Arrow went directly for the window after him, but Angel stepped closer to their imposter, still on the ground, and offered him a hand. "Are you all right?"

His whole body shook as he accepted the hand. "I… I guess… I'm sorry I screwed it up."

"Man had a gun to your head," Bullock slapped him on the back. "You gotta be in Gotham a long time before you're used to that." He looked up at Angel. "You waitin' on something, kid?"

She turned toward the shattered window and said, "Take care of him." And followed her companions, grappling hook to break her fall and all. When Angel reached the park, Robin and Arrow were already waiting on the outside.

"Took you long enough," Robin said.

"In another circumstance, I'd say it was too dangerous to split up," Arrow said. "But I think communication is good enough and we can at least hold our own. Don't fight him by yourself, find him and then call out. He's not trying to win, he just wants to get away. No one's paying him to kill us."

Nothing more needed to be said, and the three rushed into Robinson Park. Angel reflected on the many times she had pursued criminals into its small forest. The studio they used for the sting really had belonged to Two-Face at one time, and was considered prime real estate among the criminal population for its proximity to the park for a quick disappearance.

Her head was elsewhere and it hurt. The exchange with Sadie was still at the forefront of her thoughts, though she hadn't said a word about it to anyone else. Every few seconds she reminded herself to keep her mind of the mission, but it just kept drifting away.

A small part of her noted she didn't use to have this problem. It used to be much harder to focus on anything but the task at hand, but that now seemed like a lost art. She wondered if she'd lost any of her effectiveness since she found God and Sadie.

The park's center was almost pitch black at night. She paused, briefly, with every few steps at the sound of rustling leaves before concluding it was just the wind. Squirrels and birds chattered through the trees overhead, but still no sign of the assassin they had tried to corner.

"No sign of anything yet?" Arrow asked over the transmitter.

"That's what the silence means, yes," Robin said.

"Sheesh, Batman really is the good cop when you two go out, isn't he? Anything on your end, Angel?"

Angel put a hand to her ear and said, "Nothing."

"He's very good at this. There's a reason he's made it through fights against two Green Arrows before. Just keep your eyes peeled for—"

An open hand was thrust out from a tree at Angel's side, grabbed her by the face and smashed her into another old oak. Without time to react, a second hand grabbed ahold of the transmitter in her ear, tore it out and crushed it.

"Well, you are supposed to be the quiet one, after all."

Angel got ahold of the one hand he held her with and wrenched herself free, now face to face with Drakon in the dark of the park. The fight was underway without a moment of hesitation, the first punch on both sides set the mood, neither combatant was giving this anything less than everything, a force sufficient to kill a weaker opponent.

Angel was largely on the defensive, she weaved around this punches and blocked whatever she couldn't dodge. Even when Drakon hit her forearm instead of her face, the pain was still intense. Meanwhile, Drakon's own body shape seemed to resist any pressure point strikes she threw, either that or he'd built up some kind of resistance.

Between the cover of night and Drakon's years of experience, Angel struggled to read his movements, leaving the blows that did land missing their mark and largely buffeted. Punches to the head only brushed with the cheek, shots to the body went off center. Drakon's strikes remained consistent, rattling her brain with any shot between the eyes and causing bruises when his fist hit her armor. At least, judging by the grit of his teeth, that feeling was mutual.

Between a flurry of strikes, Angel could see the glint of a knife Drakon pulled from his jacket, and made it to her sword quick enough to catch him in a clash.

"Come on, kid, is that really the best you can do?" Drakon laughed. "Or does Gotham's reputation really precede it?"

Given much more time in control, Angel was sure Drakon would get enough control to end the fight and escape. She didn't like what she was about to do, but she knew she couldn't let Drakon escape.

She broke the blade lock, kicked the knife from Drakon's hand and went on the full offensive, pounding at his muscular body over and over. Not every attack landed, some were blocked and Drakon met many of her attacks with his own. But more importantly, Angel forced the pain into the back of her mind. She was going to be very sore later, but in that moment, all she had to do was outlast him.

Within a minute of mutually accepted strikes, Drakon began to slow down. He hit harder, but Angel's quicker attacks were swiftly adding up to a lot of damage. His fists were denting her armor and the shots to the face left her seeing stars. Still, nothing would slow her down. Drakon's heavy hits lost their frequency, his body started to shift, his balance about to give way.

"Why won't you fall?!"

"You first."

Angel shuffled forward and delivered a last front-snap kick to his chin, the hitman at last hitting the ground with a pained groan. For a moment, the fight seemed to be over. The park went silent as the pain slowly sank in.

"Thank you for not disappointing."

Angel looked up, only faintly recognizing the voice before Drakon shouted and growled in pain. A figure in pure black, barely visible, stepped on his hand and Angel could only guess he was looking directly at her. Once again, as if from nowhere, the man with the scars and blonde hair took his place at his side.

"You." Angel took her stance and clenched her fists and retook her stance, wincing as she tried to force the pain away again.

"Settle down, little Angel, I'm not here for you," Lipov looked toward Drakon. "I have a question for your pal here."

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" Drakon demanded.

"A man who's sorely disappointed you didn't remember him," Lipov said. "But more importantly, I'm wanted to buy some flowers."

Angel had waited long enough. She rushed toward Lipov, but in a black flash the Odmience cut her off with a strike to her already dented chest, knocking her to the ground. Lipov grabbed ahold of Drakon, pulling a gun from the inside of his coat and pressing it against the assassin's head.

"Flowers, Drakon. I want to buy some flowers."

"Are you kidding me? You're making that demand with a gun to my head?"

Angel knew this sounded familiar, somehow, but she couldn't put her finger on why. And either way, she couldn't let him proceed. She drew her sword and swung at the Odmience, who threw the attack to the side and thrust his blade's handle into her face, another blast of the concealed pain revealed itself.

"I got a dozen of bitter gourds twenty years ago," Lipov said. "Are they still in style?"

"Twenty years?! You're going to ask me about twenty years?"

Angel clashed with Odmience again and threw a kick at his side, but he outmaneuvered her and returned the favor.

"How about this then?" Lipov said. "I'm ordering for a very special woman. She likes quiet nights out on the town. What should I buy for her?" The grip on his gun tightened. "I wouldn't want to cancel this order.

Angel threw a last punch. Odmience accepted it to the face and didn't even seem to move, then thrust her into his knee and threw her to the ground.

"… You want to buy that woman a dozen musas," Drakon said. "And you didn't hear that from me."

"Much appreciated." Lipov hit Drakon upside the head with the butt of the gun and dropped him. "Odmience! My zakonchili."

Angel had pushed back to her feet, trying to keep her breathing stable as she faced her opponent one more time. Three _whoosh_ sounds filled the air, one of them making Lipov shout and keep over for a moment, a pair of dull arrows colliding with the trees behind him.

"Angel!" Arrow yelled rushing to her side and pulling back another.

"Why the hell didn't you call?" Robin was only a few steps behind.

Lipov looked between the three of them. Odmience's stance said he was more than willing to fight, but Lipov shouted, "Odmience! Teper'!"

The two retreated into the darkness, the night shading them as they ran. Arrow fired at them a few times before they vanished completely. Then he held Angel's shoulder and tried to keep her stable. "Are you all right?"

"Sore tomorrow."

"You're just letting them go?" Robin shouted. "Fine, I'll get them!"

"What would he have wanted with Drakon?" Arrow said.

"He wants David… my father… something about flowers," Angel said.

Robin was about to start running, but stopped and turned to her. "Ordering flowers? Do you not know what that means?"

She shook her head.

"I guess you wouldn't, really… it's code talk. How assassins refer to other assassins." He stepped over to the other two. "When you said he was hunting your father, I thought he was probably some kind of outsider. Like Cain was hired to kill someone he knew… but he knew the flower codes, huh?"

"Do you?" Angel asked.

"Not by heart. Father has some of their old codebooks, but they change every year." He looked toward the direction the two had run. "Usually you use it to hire someone. But he wants to call a killer just to kill him personally, apparently."

"Go," Angel said.

Arrow looked to her, "What?"

"Follow them. Try to catch them. I will be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"You just fought Drakon one on one," Arrow said. "I don't know much of anyone who would be fine after that."

"Go after them. You have to."

Robin didn't need any more convincing, and took off in their direction. Arrow led her to a strong old tree and gently led her to the ground before he stepped over and cuffed the unconscious Drakon. "I'll call the police, see if Tim and Steph can come give you a hand getting back."

"Thank you," Angel said.

"Sure you'll be all right?"

"Promise. Go."

Arrow gave her a last nod before running in Robin's direction. Angel gave a last sigh and rest against the tree.


	12. Chapter 12

The night ended in Tim and Stephanie's bunker just outside Gotham University. Angel's armor was already more elaborate than her allies' due to the ballistic layers overlapping the lighter armor. Cassandra cringed with soreness as she pulled at the individual pieces. Stephanie had given her a ride back and shared a few of her pained expressions when Cassandra pulled off the undermost layer and revealed her bruises.

"I mean, I've seen you get beat up before, but you're usually outnumbered or they're hitting you with hammers and crowbars and stuff. Did that Odmi-jerk really do all that himself?"

"I fought Drakon first," Cassandra said. "Most of it was him."

"Well, you look pretty rough anyway. We've got a shower down here that isn't just that waterfall hanging over a chasm, so you can use it if you want."

"Thank you. What were you and Tim doing?"

"It was mostly boring for us, although there's one thing I'm really excited about. Follow me."

Stephanie led Cassandra past her and Tim's armory toward a door on the left side of the room. Stephanie rummaged for a ring of keys in her utility belt. "Bruce did a fantastic job getting this place running so fast, but still none of those handprint panels yet." She opened the door and flicked on the light, revealing a large room mostly taken up by four semi-transparent walls, a shiny object Cassandra didn't recognize in the center.

"After we fought off that guy from the other night, I nabbed his helmet before the police could get the rest of his suit. There's been all kinds of crazy stuff in there."

"Like what?"

"Here, I'll show you." Stephanie flicked off the light and led Cassandra back into the cave. At the central, oversized computer monitor, Stephanie opened a folder and enlarged the images within, giving them a look at four blurry but still distinguishable figures.

"I guess his helmet had some kind of camera running inside of it." She paused and pointed at the figure in black and white in the top left. "That one is that Slipstream guy we've already fought with." She pointed to the right at one in black and gold with oversized goggles. "We got a little of them talking to each other on record. They call her Harmony, she can cause sonic bursts and stuff." She lowered her finger to a giant in green. "I think they said he's Jabberwocky. We haven't seen him yet, so I don't know if he's got something else going for him or he's just really big." She ended the clockwise movement with a figure in neon pink. "I didn't get her name, but from the looks of the video, she can do that hard light, Green Lanterny stuff that Tim's physics teachers really hate."

"Are there more? What do they want?"

Don't know, it's good we gleaned as much as we did from the video," Stephanie said with a shrug. "It's weirder to think I probably go to school with all these guys. If we keep digging, our bases might bump into each other."

They laughed as a _ding_ chimed in on the other side of the bunker. Tim had already pulled off his cape and mask when he stepped through and approached the two.

"Heard you had some trouble tonight, Cass," Tim said, stepping past to hang up his mantle. "But after all the horror stories Connor used to tell me about Drakon, I think you'd have to be Superman not to have."

"Did they find those two?" Cassandra asked. "Lipov and Odmience?"

"No, they just gave up the search, they'll be back here in a bit."

"Damn," Stephanie said with a sigh. "That's no good."

Cassandra frowned. "Is Connor leaving soon?"

"Probably," Tim said. "It'll be a shame. It was fun having him around." He looked to Stephanie. "You mind if I use the monitor for a minute?"

Stephanie closed the images of the four and stepped aside. "Was just letting Cassie in on a little of our master plan to beat them all at once."

"All at once?" Cassandra sounded suspicious. "How?"

"All in good time," Tim said. He searched through several different folders Cassandra didn't recognize before opening a single, several hundred page document. Tim paused a moment to look at his transmitter, then entered the phrase, "musas." A moment later, he attempted the phrase, "dozen musas." "As if there was ever any doubt," he said.

In the center of the screen under a highlight of yellow was the phrase, "DOZEN MUSCAS," directly across from the words, "DAVID CAIN" with what looked to be nonsense punctuation on the right.

Cassandra glared at the screen. "What does it mean?"

"Damian told me about what Lipov said to Drakon. This document is a rough translation of 'The Boesen Catalog of Spring Plants,' which has been an underground cover for America-centered assassins for years. But ever since Bruce started cracking down on them, they've become a lot more secretive and most of the catalogs are destroyed long before Bruce makes it to the scene."

"It's not like there's a contact number or anything," Stephanie said. "What good was this 'catalog' supposed to do?"

"Every individual assassin has their own code that correlates with a phone number, revolving around an occasion a person would buy flowers. It's a code in two-halves, each is useless without the other." Tim paused and turned to Cassandra. "You don't remember what kind of occasion Lipov asked Drakon about, do you?"

Cassandra shut her eyes tight and bit her lower lip for a moment. "A woman… quiet nights… on the town," she pieced together.

Tim punched the separate codes into the computer, leading after a few attempts to another set of nonsense punctuation. "Bruce had a codebreaker for this, but I know this catalog is a few years old."

Cassandra and Stephanie watched as Tim combed through files on the computer. After a few searches, he pulled up a generator application of some kind and entered the two nonsense phrases.

"Wait… damn it. Cassie, did Drakon say how many flowers should be ordered?"

"A… dozen?" Cassandra wasn't sure of herself, of course, having been so busy fighting the Odmience, but she was at least familiar with the term when it came to flowers.

Tim clicked the "generate" button twelve times, both girls shared uneasy looks as the nonsense slowly approached something readable until they were finally rendered as a ten digit phone number.

"I'm going to be really shocked if this works," Tim said. He set his transmitter on the counter before them, set it to speaker-phone and entered it. For a moment, the three held their breaths.

"The number you have dialed has been disconnected and is no longer in service."

Tim and Stephanie muttered, "Damn." Cassandra just sighed.

"Well, if Lipov gets anywhere it means he's a step ahead of us," Tim said. "As to where he managed to get a copy of the catalog before Bruce did, I have no idea. We might not have a chance to get to David before he does."

"… Someone else may know," Cassandra said. Tim and Stephanie both turned to her, the look on her face suggesting she didn't like what she was about to say. "Can I go to Blackgate myself?"

"They've been turning up security, both in and out," Tim said. "I've got its schematics and could probably hack their camera feeds if you give me a day or two. Why though, who's in Blackgate?"

Cassandra let out a long sigh, considering the only person she could think of turning to as a reluctant ally. Someone who might know where David was, a chance to warn him before he wandered into a trap.

"Shiva."


	13. Chapter 13

The shroud of night was broken over Blackgate Penitentiary, where lights shone from the numerous guard towers and radiated from within the building. From up on a hill half a mile away, Angel and Arrow reflected on the difficulties this would give them, Tim back in the bunker providing occasional commentary.

"I suppose it's a good thing, in some sense anyway," Arrow said. "If it actually keeps them from escaping. But it's not as if Gotham had any shortage of light pollution to begin with."

"Wouldn't really make sense to complain that the place is actually doing its job," Tim said over a slightly-scratchy transmission. "There's an underground emergency escape for prison riots and the like around your current position. Let me know before you tamper with it, I'll disable the alarm."

The two searched the area atop the hill slowly, listening and feeling for some indication of a trapdoor in the earth. It had taken a three days to put the plan together, and Arrow planned to depart shortly thereafter.

"I'm not convinced you actually needed me for this," Arrow said with a tiny laugh.

"Like having you here," Angel said. "You should visit more."

"Maybe you should come by Star one of these days. It's no picnic, but I'll bet it's less crazy than here." He paused as a step produced a light _clink_ sound and dropped to one knee. With a rub at the dirt and the discovery of metal hinges beneath it, he pressed on his earpiece. "Found it, Red."

"Good. Schematics say there's going to be a ladder. It'll go down pretty far, so my connection's probably going to get worse before it gets better."

As Arrow brushed the dirt off the entrance, Angel asked, "Cameras?"

"I've got a two-hour clip I cut together to play over the security footage. I have the real thing pulled up, so I can turn them back on if I see something going on."

Arrow finished unearthing the door and took note of the chain that served as its means of entry. "It's ready, go ahead and unlock it."

There was a tiny sound of shifting mechanisms on the other side of the steel and with a, "Go." From Tim, Arrow pulled up on the chain and ushered Angel enter first. The two slipped into the vertical chamber, tiny emergency lights came to life, leading the way underground.

When Arrow shut the trapdoor, he held a hand to his earpiece. "Can you still hear me?"

Tim's voice was distorted, but still present. "Yeah. I'm gonna lock that thing again lest anyone get suspicious, call me back when you leave."

Angel took a look down, the ladder running so deep she couldn't see the end, or even all of the lights. "Anything else?"

"Since it _is_ an escape route and all, there's going to be some security. I have a distraction planned. Even if our transmission gets cut off, I'll at least be able to watch you guys on the cameras and trigger it when you're ready. Just be sure to hang out by the door a few minutes."

The descent was a long, mostly quiet journey. The ladder was at least fully intact, keeping the steps downward consistent from beginning to end. Arrow only attempted conversation when they were again on level ground.

"How's your girlfriend?"

Angel breathed a heavy sigh. With how busy the last few nights had been, there had hardly been a chance to say or be asked what had happened with Sadie's family. "She is fine… talking about moving."

"You can move out of Gotham?" Arrow gave a short laugh. "I always figured if you could move out, there would be no civilians left." Somehow in the darkness, he could feel the frustrated glare Angel gave him. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to make fun of you."

"I forgive you," Angel said.

"So, what is it? Just that Gotham's got so many criminals, or is it something else?"

"College." Angel rubbed her forehead. "I know I should be happy for her."

"You can be happy about it and still be upset that it's happening," Arrow said.

"I thought it was better to detach." It was difficult to tell by her inflection, but she was making fun of him.

"I'm a Buddhist, not a robot." Arrow cracked up a little. "And if I was orthodox, I wouldn't be a crime fighter."

"Orthodox?" Angel knew the word, but couldn't remember its meaning.

"It means following the rules exactly as they're written," Arrow said.

"Neither of us then."

Arrow opened his mouth to say something else, but put out his arm, as if commanding Angel to stop moving. When she did, the very faint sound of footsteps echoed down the chamber.

Arrow put a hand to his ear. "Red, is there something we should know?" He and Angel both waited a few seconds, but no response came. "Red? Damn it, did we get cut off?"

From further down the corridor whispers were audible, the acoustics amplifying them. The voice that followed was little more than a mumble, only audible by its echo. "I heard you long before you heard me… I can hear your breathing… your steps… you're not him… but I can't let you tell him—"

The silent force closed the distance so fast it seemed as if he ran faster than he could speak. The figure threw an open hand at Arrow, who only had just enough time to raise his bow and block the strike. His skin was an unhealthy, almost gray shade, a head of black hair partially covering his eyes, which were colored green but overcome with bloodshot.

"You know this one?" Arrow threw the figure backwards.

Even the man's stance was off, tiny twitches running through his body, streaks of sweat running down his bare, gray chest. "Zeiss," he snarled through grit teeth. "Philo Zeiss you Philistine!"  
Angel took a step forward, but Arrow put out his arm. "You're still sore. I can handle him."

"I beat the Bat half to death!" With a wild swing, Zeiss landed a cut into Arrow, giving him a shout and a clutch. It was only then the two noticed his cuticles were covered in dried blood and his fingernails were sharpened nearly to claws. "Him and the cat bitch—"

Arrow forced Zeiss back and kicked him in the gut. With a sudden burst of his speed, Zeiss retaliated with two punches across Arrow's face before grabbing him by the hood and throwing him against the wall. Again, Angel stepped forward to intervene, but Arrow fought back with a bash across the face with his bow. With the open moment, Arrow notched one of his blunt bolts and pointed it at his forehead.

Zeiss's clapped his hands together, catching the arrow within millimeters of his face.

Arrow visibly flinched. "What the—" before sending another arrow flying.

Even standing no more than a few feet from Zeiss, the madman would not be hit. As if taking the attack as a challenge, his limbs thrashed and caught every arrow as they were fired. No matter how fast Arrow drew and fired, Zeiss got hold of the shaft and threw it aside.

"What is this supposed to be?" Arrow asked. "How are you doing this?"

"Cybernetics," Angel said. "I have fought him. Part machine."

"Only part then? Good."

"As if you could—"

Zeiss didn't get his thought out as Arrow fired his next arrow toward his legs. Again, Zeiss caught the arrow, followed by the one flying toward his pectorals. Arrow fired faster and faster, the result was always the same, until the shaking in Zeiss's body seemed to get worse.

"Wait! No—stop it! I can't—"

"Your cybernetics can keep up with me at point-blank, but your bones and muscles can't keep up with the whiplash you're putting them through," Arrow said.

"You little bastard!" Zeiss stepped backwards, still grabbing ahold of the fired arrows as if he had no choice in the matter. Finally, there was a light _crack_ when he grabbed one going for his shoulder. He released it almost a moment later and shouted in pain. Arrow finished the fight with a last two shots to his face, knocking him backwards to the floor, unconscious.

"Incredible," Angel said.

"Well, I am happy with that one, yes," Arrow said with a laugh. "He cleared out my quiver though, give me a hand getting them all together."

The two gathered up the arrows, dragged Zeiss down the escape route. The area at the end of the passage was some kind of surveillance room, three guards laid unconscious around it, though all were still visibly breathing.

"… Did we do this?" There was fear in Angel's voice. "If Tim didn't disable—"

"That's not important right now," Arrow said. He stepped up to one of the guards, pulled the handcuffs from his belt and attached Zeiss to an old radiator in the corner. Arrow then put a hand to his ear again. "Tim, we back online?"

"Yeah, I can hear you," Tim said. "I saw what was going on with him. I heard Angel call him Zeiss, but man, I haven't seen him in ages."

"Will the cuffs hold him?" Angel asked.

"Definitely not for long," Tim said. "I can get some more guards in there, but they could give you some trouble too. Blackgate guards are not the nicest guys… hang on a sec." There came a few seconds of tapping at the keyboard. "There's only one floor beneath you and it's the one that deals in extreme isolation. Shiva's room is down there, number EI-7. I'll time your trip down there and keep an eye on Zeiss and the guards. But you're going to have to book it when I tell you to leave."

"Hopefully we'll have more than enough time then," Arrow said, and the two of them stepped out of the security chamber into the prison.

"There's going to be an out of commission service elevator down the hall a ways," Tim said. "There's not any normal entry through there, so there isn't a guard watching it. But there is one on the other side of the floor, so don't make too much noise."

As promised, Arrow and Angel came to the delapitated service elevator, so gutted the barely-visible car at the bottom seemed torn apart.

"Killer Croc ruined the thing… long story." The two descended via grapple as Tim spoke, finally stepping onto the bottommost floor of Blackgate. Indeed, there was a single guard watching the entrance on the other side of the hallway, which was lined with locked doors.

The walk to EI7 was a slow, nearly silent affair, the sound of Tim unlocking the door was almost enough to make Arrow jump, but they slipped in, quietly as they had come. The goal they had journeyed for sat, cross-legged, on the other side of an iron cell.

Even stripped of the leather regalia and sitting weaponless, she was still intense, the fires in her glare more than made up for what was missing. As Angel and Arrow approached her, she slowly uncrossed her legs, pushed to her feet and stood up straight. She stood a head taller than Angel, half of one taller than Arrow. "You kept me waiting."

"I did not want to come," Angel said, stepping closer. "You are needed."

"Always a refreshing sentiment." Shiva turned her attention toward Arrow. "Mister Hawke, you're pretty far from home."

"Business. I'll be headed home soon," Arrow said.

"Send your step-mother my regards."

"She'll be elated, I'm sure." He made no attempt to mask the sarcasm. "I'm surprised they've managed to keep you locked up so long."

"It's a personal exercise, at this point," Shiva said. "Gives me some space to think about things, meditate, linger on all the different ways I could slip out of this cage." Shiva turned her attention back to Angel. "Besides, I can now say I passed on my finest technique, so I don't have to look for someone to teach it to anymore. Cassandra, what did you come for?"

"Someone attacked me," Angel said. "His name was Lipov. I want to know why."

"Lipov?" Angel nodded as Shiva asked. "Doesn't sound familiar. Why would I know anything about him? Is he trying to take some kind of revenge on me by attacking you?"

"No. It is David he wants."

"He has knowledge of the Boesen's catalog," Arrow said. "Batman was translating a copy, but it's out of date, and we were hoping you might be able to assist us."

Shiva leaned against the wall of the cell, arms crossed. "If I told you where my copy of the catalog is hiding, I'd have a dozen assassins on my back for squealing. And I don't have that information independent of it. David and I have never had active communication. You were an arrangement, Cassandra, we have never been lovers."

The room went quiet, relative to the ever-present shouts and noises from the rooms above. Arrow looked between Angel and Shiva, as if unsure of if he should say anything, but held his tongue. In spite of her prompt answer, the way Shiva broke her glare and looked toward the ground suggested she was contemplating something.

"I may have been wrong. Lipov, you said? Victor Lipov?"

"Don't know," Angel replied. "He never said."

"Victor Lipov I do remember. His name, at least, I never knew him."

"Good," Tim said over the speaker. "Keep her talking… Looks like some guards are making their rounds toward the surveillance room."

Angel turned to him and they shared a nob before she returned her attention to Shiva. "Who was he?"

"An assassin in training, if I remember right. You should probably know he's dead."

Angel sighed. "Not him then."

Green Arrow stepped closer to the two. "Don't stop now. She said herself, they never met. It's not like she would have seen the body."

"I'll criticize David for plenty, but I don't believe for a moment he would have failed his orders on that case." Shiva shut her eyes to concentrate on the details. "Victor Lipov served alongside David for a few years with the League of Assassins. David seemed to like him fine as a protégé, but he was apparently too sadistic for his own good. He'd deliberately utilize more painful tactics when dispatching his targets, at least a few clung to life long enough to escape him, at least that's what David said." She slid a hand across her mouth as she pulled at the thoughts deeper in her mind. "Lipov apparently failed one time too many. David was ordered to kill him." Shiva opened her eyes and she looked toward Angel. "Your father monitored me almost every second of my pregnancy with you. The only time he was ever away was to handle that order, so one of the al Ghuls must have demanded he do it. That's why I'm sure he's dead. David wouldn't have taken his eyes off of me if the Demon hadn't demanded it, and if he had failed a0 direct order, I'm positive one of us would be dead."

The three again fell into silence for a short time and lingered on Shiva's words. Arrow was the one to break it. "Even if all of that is true, we only had a last name to go off of. Maybe the two are brothers, or maybe the one hunting you is his son. It _was_ seventeen years ago."

Angel nodded slowly toward Arrow before slowly looking back toward Shiva. "One last thing, did he know about me?"

Shiva raised an eyebrow. "Know about you?"

"What David wanted me to be? Lipov has a servant, he fights like me, dresses like I did, never speaks. He is what David wanted."

Shiva shrugged and sat back on the floor. "I don't know if he ever told anyone else about his intentions. You'd have to ask him that yourself."

"Damn it, rounds are getting closer." Tim said over the earpiece. "You don't have a lot of time left."

"We should go," Arrow said. "I don't want to be mistaken for the enemy, and she just said she wouldn't help us."

Angel nodded again, turned toward their exit and drew the grappling hook from her belt.

"Cassandra." Shiva did not shout, but her voice had the same force as if she had. "I want to know something before you leave."

Angel said nothing, but turned to face her.

"If you encounter David before your hunter does, what is it you intend to do?"

"I will ask him the same things. And protect him, if I have to."

Shiva gave this a tiny smile and an even smaller chuckle. "Protect your father. The same man who made you everything you now hate, who continues to be an agent against everything you stand for? If your God is real, Cassandra, your father is going to burn in hell."

"… I believe in redemption."

"You think David would do what he does if he didn't absolutely embrace it? He isn't sorry for all the hits he's done, he isn't sorry that he killed my sister, he'll only ever be sorry he didn't raise you to have a stronger stomach."

"Your time's up," Tim said. "Any longer and you'll have to run, and then you might alert the guard on the other side of the room."

"One last thing," Shiva said. "Do you view me the same way?" There was a pause between the two. "I'm glad I've let you live as many times as I have, but I'm not sorry I almost didn't. And I'm not looking for forgiveness for every person who wasn't so fortunate. I'm not a lost sheep you can show the way. I'm here because of myself, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Arrow pulled at Angel's shoulder, but for a moment she held her mother's glare. "Every night before I fight, I pray. You, everyone here, in Arkham, I pray you can recover."

"If your God didn't want people to make the wrong choices, he wouldn't have forbidden a tree in the middle of Eden. Or he wouldn't have put it there in the first place."

Angel opened her mouth to react, but Arrow gave a last pull on her shoulder. Reluctantly, she followed him back into the hallway outside.


	14. Chapter 14

That Saturday, Cassandra, Connor, Stephanie and Tim packed into the innocuous looking, deep green sedan Tim kept on campus. "Keeps people from knowing I come from the Waynes and the Drakes," he told Connor on the way to the airport. "I can pay for the break ins of course, but I'd prefer if I didn't have to."

"Roy wants to know if you or Dick are planning to start a new Titans team," Connor said, leaning against the window. "Said he's too old to keep running around with my dad and his solo career never feels like it goes anywhere."

"I dunno, I kind of have my own team around here these days," Tim smiled as he looked at Stephanie and Cassandra in his rearview mirror. "Maybe Roy outta try finding Jason Todd and they can be angry about stuff together."

"Doesn't sound like Roy's style… Jason Todd, the second Robin? I thought he was dead."

"He got better," Stephanie said. "Then I cut his ACL, beat him in a fist fight and might have made him pee his pants. Don't think there's any getting better from that one."

Everyone in the car laughed. Cassandra nearly sank back into her seat. Those kinds of moments, just surrounded and listening to her friends, were among her favorites. At Connor's advice about being frustrated and happy at the same time, she and Sadie had made plans for the night. Tim and Stephanie were coming along with them out to an Italian place downtown right after the drop off, leaving Connor the only rider in the car without either a dinner jacket or a cardigan, though thanks to her fashion blindness, Stephanie had to lend one out. Cassandra told herself this was going to much needed break, including from Sadie's college talk which Cassandra was sure she would avoid at all costs.

Stephanie started putting out her fingers to count. "So there's original flavor Green Arrow, there's Red Arrow, there's Arsenal—"

"No," Connor said. "Red Arrow and Arsenal are the same person. He also used to go by Speedy."

"Finally, there's someone else with as many different identities as me." Another laugh ran throughout the car. "But is Black Canary the only woman you guys have? Not even any teenage girls or anything?"

"There's Lian, but she just started elementary school." Connor smiled and shook his head. "Roy has sworn he'll never let her wear a costume, but I've heard her tell Dinah she wants to dress up as 'Little Red Hood' when she grows up."

"And somehow we made it back to Jason," Tim said.

The talk went on like that for most of the ride, though the subject briefly changed as they passed the giant, wooden skeleton of a building surrounded by cranes and bulldozers. "What is being built there?"

"Church," Cassandra said. "Mega church."

"Wow." Connor rolled down his window and stuck out his head for a better look. "Goodness, who's building it?"

"Church of the Latter Day Open Bible Baptists… of Hope. Let's go with that," Tim said.

"I know it's a joke, but there really are places that are 'Of the Open Bible,' aren't there?" Connor asked. "Are there any churches of closed Bibles? Are there any churches that aren't 'of Hope?'"

"They probably just think they're more 'of Hope' or more 'open' or something. Would you plant a Bodhi tree that promised '25% more zen'?"

"Can't say I've ever thought about that one," Connor said with a chuckle.

A few other conversations occupied the car, but eventually Tim was parked on the "private terminal" side of the airport and the four were climbing out and exchanging hugs.

"Come back soon," Stephanie said. "Don't wait for an excuse or anything, just do it."

"I'll do my best," Connor said.

Connor and Tim had apparently run out of things to say, their handshake into a hug seemed to cover things. He and Cassandra exchanged an embrace last.

"Glad you're doing well," Connor said. "Take care of yourself."

"You too."

With some last smiles and a grab at some oddly shaped luggage from the trunk, Connor Hawke departed.

It was a little before six when Tim's sedan pulled up to Sadie's driveway. Stephanie had moved to the front seat and Sadie slid into the backseat, dressed in a jacket and slacks not unlike Tim's, though her blouse added a feminine touch.

"I kept trying to google that restaurant name you gave me," Sadie said to Tim. "But I couldn't find it. Where are we going again?"

"Django, with a silent, 'D,'" Tim said.

"Yeah, that would explain why," Sadie said. "You said it was a French place or something? I know this sounds ignorant, but about all I know about French stuff is snails and eels."

"It's a lot better than that," Stephanie said with a laugh. "Believe me, Tim scared me the first time he wanted to drag me in here too. But it tastes great."

"Good to hear." Sadie extended a hand and put it on Cassandra's, their fingers intertwined thereafter. "Sounds like a good night."

Tim and Stephanie had made plenty of rounds to the restaurant over the years, but it was a new experience for Cassandra and Sadie. Dinner between the four ranged from crepes to Bourguignonne and cassoulet. Twice over the course of the meal Sadie asked, with a laugh, "What is it we're celebrating again?"

"We don't always need an occasion," Tim said. "Sometimes it's just good to have a night out with people we are about."

"Well, I'm really happy you guys have let me into your little group the way you have," Sadie said. "Cassie talks all the time, and it sounds like you've been hanging out forever. I'm glad I could get in on it."

"I've been waiting to have Cassie out with us on nights like this forever," Stephanie said before turning to Tim. "No offence, babe, but this is fun!"

"It is," Cassandra said, and smiled toward Stephanie and then to Sadie. "We love having you."

"Well I'm always happy to be around."

Conversations wandered all throughout the meal. Tim and Stephanie seemed to carefully tiptoe around the topic of, "college" and kept talk limited to "school." Sadie talked about her cousin and his wife being out of town for an anniversary or some such occasion, so their house was completely silent when she got home from school. Stephanie swore that if the wine was so tasty when it was in with the food, she was going to have to get them all back for her twenty-first birthday so she could try it on its own.

Cassandra, as usual, didn't say much. Through most of the night, she just sat back, either holding hands or resting a palm on Sadie's leg. For a few precious hours, everything was peaceful.

Dinner ended with soufflés and a call for the check. Most of the drive back to Sadie's house was a compliment of the food or a complaint of eating too much. This was only diverted when Tim asked, "Hey, Sadie, Steph and I have some stuff for school we gotta finish up. You mind driving Cassie home?"

"Asking me to spend any longer with my girlfriend than absolute courtesy? That's just cruel, Timothy."

The whole car laughed.

Soon enough the car was parked outside the house again, Cassandra and Sadie were waving Tim and Stephanie off.

"Hey… so I'm still full and all and we have the place to ourselves at the moment," Sadie said. "You wanna come in for a bit?"

"I was hoped you would ask." Cassandra flashed a smile.

"Good." Sadie led her in by the hand. "We haven't had a good night to get cozy for a while."


	15. Chapter 15

"That get up's gotta be killing you," Sadie said as she flicked on the house's lights and walked toward the staircase. "I'm getting something else from my bedroom for a bit. You want anything?"

Cassandra frowned. "I wanted to look good. For you."

"I know you did, and you look great," Sadie said quickly. "But you don't have to dress up for me here. Hang tight."

Cassandra sat down on the couch in the living room, Sadie's steps above her the only sound in the whole house. After a few minutes Sadie returned, dressed in a dark purple sports bra and black sweatpants. "I know it's not exactly modest, but I'm about out of clean stuff right now." She tossed Cassandra an oversized red flannel and black gym shorts. "I keep putting off laundry and Pete's not here to bug me about it. Sorry about that."

"It's fine."

Cassandra stepped off the couch and into an adjacent bathroom to change out of her formal wear. Sadie's feet were on the floor and left her an open spot on the couch when she returned, but Sadie raised and laid her crossed legs on Cassandra's lap.

"You have a good time tonight?" Sadie asked as she flicked on the TV.

"Yes."

"Good. Anything you want to watch?"

"I don't watch much without you."

"Well, thought I'd be courteous."

Sadie flipped through all of the channels, twice, possibly, seemingly without giving any of them any attention. In the midst of the flipping, Sadie uncrossed, slid closer in and laid a hand on Cassandra's bare, lower leg and gently moved back and forth with her pointer finger.

"And you had a good night with me, right?" Sadie asked.

Cassandra smiled. "Of course."

"I know I ask that a lot. It's not like I really doubt it, you're just a tough nut to crack sometimes, you know?"

"I know," Cassandra said. "I don't mind."

After never holding on a channel for more than two seconds, Sadie flicked the TV off. "Maybe all that booze in the cooking is making me feel weird, but I've feeling really good right now. Really on top of the world, sitting here with you."

Cassandra set a hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad."

"I want to come up here with me."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know… I mean, I do, you just always need everything explained… remember back in the movie a while back? I asked you if you trusted me."

"Yes."

"Good. Because I want you to trust me like that right now."

Before Cassandra could give it any further thought, Sadie repositioned herself and leaned forward. From the first contact, there was something different about that kiss. A hint of force, some semblance of aggression, Cassandra wasn't sure what to consider it. Maybe it was just passion, it had been a good night after all. Cassandra decided to stop dwelling on what it was and melted into the kiss. The lock of lips didn't last long, Sadie slid a hand to the back of Cassandra's head, ran it through her hair and pushed at Cassandra's lips for a moment before their tongues met. Sadie led first in circles, then in zig zags and eventually not taking any pattern at all.

This went on for a minute before Sadie pulled back and tapped her forehead against Cassandra's. "Still with me?"

There was still something bothering Cassandra, but she put it out of her mind. "Yes." She wasn't sure if it was the truth or not.

Sadie playfully pushed Cassandra, but she didn't respond. She tried again, paused and laughed. "I want you to lay back. Sorry, know you don't take cues well."

Cassandra gave tiny laugh of her own, and she fell backwards on the couch with Sadie's next play-push. Sadie slid on top of her slowly and detoured before she reached Cassandra's face. The moment Sadie's lips and tongue touched Cassandra's neck, she was overcome by the same sense of elated sickness from the movie theater weeks before. She could remember she had talked to Father Ryan about the experience, but she couldn't remember exactly what she said. Cassandra was more prepared this time, and swallowed her apprehension. Soon, she was eased back as Sadie continued to lay tiny kisses and licks on her neck.

One tiny twitch ran through Cassandra's body, and though she thought it would be impossible, Sadie seemed to notice, paused and looked up at her. "Still okay?"

Cassandra's response was quicker than even she thought it would be. "Yes."

"Okay, good."

As Sadie's mouth returned to Cassandra's neck, her hand wandered downward and slid between the soft material of the oversized flannel. Cassandra wasn't sure what to make of it at first, but after a moment, decided she liked it. Sadie pushed up from her position on her neck, and as they resumed kissing her again, Cassandra ran her hands over Sadie's bare stomach and back. Cassandra was confused, but it was a wonderful confusion, an unpredictability. She couldn't be sure of what was coming, at least that was what she told herself. But whatever it was, that was where she wanted to be.

Again Sadie broke the lock on their lips and pressed her forehead against Cassandra's. Their breaths were heavy, Cassandra could almost feel Sadie's heart pounding. "I love you." It was little more than a mumble when Sadie said it. "I'm doing all of this because I love you."

Cassandra didn't know what she was referring to. Or she didn't think she knew. "I love you too."

Sadie slid back and sat up a little. Her breaths were still heavy, there were tiny twitches visible in her movements. Sadie ran her hands up Cassandra's sides, and though her fingernails weren't very long, a shiver ran through Cassandra's body. As if she had been laboring over the movement for a while, Sadie took ahold of the top button on Cassandra's flannel and slid it back through its hole. When Cassandra didn't say anything, Sadie did the same with the second.

When she came to the third, Cassandra asked, "What are you doing?"

"Come on." A small smile crept across Sadie's face. "I know you have a tough time with stuff, but you aren't stupid. You know what I'm doing, don't you?"

Cassandra wasn't sure what made her respond. Did she know? Was she just trying not to break the moment? Did she just want more of that strange, sickeningly wonderful feeling? She didn't know, or at least wasn't sure. So she just said, "Yes."

Sadie moved downward, undoing button after button until she pulled the two sides of the flannel apart. White bra under a white blouse was a rare tip from Stephanie she had actually managed to remember. The two locked eye contact for what seemed like forever, only accentuated by the deep, heavy breaths.

Their lips met again, their bare stomachs pressed together. Sadie reached down and squeezed Cassandra's breasts.

It was ecstasy. It was illness. It was elation. It was nauseating. Cassandra's entire being was alive. Her whole body was on fire. She thanked God. She begged for forgiveness.

Sadie pulled her lips away, but remained barely an inch from Cassandra's face. "This really is your first time, isn't it?"

Cassandra was going to ask, "First what?" but instead said, "Yes."

"Tell me anything you want me to change," Sadie said. "You probably don't know what you like yet."

Cassandra was wandering through a haze. Everything seemed at least somewhat recognizable, but at the same time was a blur at best. Did she understand any of what Sadie was saying? Did she understand any of what Sadie was doing? Or did she even want to understand?

Sadie's hands worked erratically. Sometimes she squeezed hard enough that it hurt. Other she didn't use any pressure at all and just pushed Cassandra's breasts together or apart. She paused from the acts for a moment, took Cassandra's hands and pulled them to her own chest. Even through the sports bra, they were softer and more perfect than anything Cassandra had ever felt. After a moment of hesitation, Cassandra mimicked Sadie's recent movements and pinched at the center. That elicited a similar moan and a, "Yeah, that's it."

Cassandra stopped trying to keep up with the kisses entirely and moaned as Sadie continued to manipulate her chest. Sadie slid up to kiss her on the mouth a few times before she returned to pecking and nibbling at Cassandra's neck. With a little time, Sadie pulled Cassandra up, somewhat, reached around and began to handle the straps of her bra.

Cassandra's heart pounded. Every action was simultaneously titillating and repulsive, both in ways she couldn't begin to describe. It was all happening so fast. She needed a moment, if nothing else, just a moment.

"…No."

Even Cassandra wasn't sure she could hear herself. Sadie's hands were still on her bra, and had undone one of the hooks.

Time seemed to slow as Sadie handled the second hook. Cassandra's mind raced as she considered the situation. She had tried, just honestly tried, to say no. Maybe she didn't have to think about the rest. Maybe she could just let Sadie proceed and the sickness would fade. Everything might be just fine, maybe even wonderful, if she laid back and accepted the moment. But somewhere, in her mind, maybe her heart, or maybe her soul, she couldn't get past the wave of discomfort she felt. As Sadie slipped the last hook from its holster, Cassandra put a hand on her shoulder, bare besides the strap.

Cassandra squeezed the shoulder gently, but her word became clear and firm. "No."

Sadie's eyes widened, she frowned and double-took. For a moment, she remained in place before slowly pushing up and raising her hands.

"I'm sorry." Sadie's eyes were down and her hands were open. "I heard you. Hands off, I got it."

Cassandra hadn't ended the conflict in her mind, she had only exacerbated it. What kind of situation was she in? Could she just say yes and it would all come back? The thought only lasted a second, but grabbed her furiously.

"I know I should have asked." Even with her face turned away, Cassandra could see Sadie's face turning red. "I shouldn't have assumed things… I just thought you were ready."

The two sat in silence for a time Cassandra was unsure of. She didn't move from her place, since doing so would probably expose her. As her heart slowly returned to its normal tempo, she said, "It isn't you."

Sadie mustered half of a smile. "No?"

"No… it's my faith."

The smile disappeared, Sadie rubbed her forehead and sighed. "Yeah. Of course it is."

Cassandra reach behind her back and fumbled to rehook her bra. "It's just—"

"No no, I know how it goes." The previous aggression had made its way into Sadie's voice. "Nothing until marriage, yeah… makes a lot of sense when you think about it. You start feeling urges when you're thirteen, sometimes younger, and you just gotta deal with it until you're way older and have the chance to invest a lot of time and money in someone. Makes a whole lot of sense."

Cassandra's mouth slipped open a bit out of disbelief. "It is sacred—"

Sadie pressed her fingers harder into her forehead. "Yeah. The sacred art of screwing. Real big deal where you come. Yeah, it was completely profound for me, two and a half years ago with that greasy guy from science class."

"Guy—"

"Yeah, guy. I was still figuring some stuff out, so sue me."

The two were silent for a bit thereafter before Cassandra asked, "Should I not have said no?"

"You're allowed to say no!" Those didn't sound like words that should have been angry to Cassandra. "Damn it, I'm not mad at you for saying no. I'm mad that you really do fall in with all this stupid BS about a bunch of old men telling us what we're supposed to do with our bodies."

"It isn't 'old men,'" Cassandra said.

"Yeah yeah yeah. Old men. God. Whatever. I don't care. I really don't right now." When Sadie began speaking again, there was a shift in her tone. Something was paired with the aggression. A choke and clench, almost, in her throat. "This seriously isn't even sex to them, you realize that, right?"

Cassandra couldn't hold eye contact anymore when she saw the tears welling up in Sadie's eyes. She looked away. "You said I could say no—"

"You can say no, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt." Sadie wiped her eyes. "Maybe you can't understand this, but it took me a lot to get here… it took a lot because I was scared of being rejected. I was afraid of exactly what just happened."

Cassandra pulled the flannel from behind her back and held it over her front as she sat up and put a hand on Sadie's shoulder. "Sadie…"

Somehow, Sadie gently pushing Cassandra's hand off was as forceful as a shove and the frustration took control of her eyes. "You couldn't just ignore this, like you're obviously ignoring so much other stuff." Sadie broke the glare and wrapped her arms around herself. "I wanted to give you my everything, and your stupid rules get in the way… I should have known." Sadie paused, as if she was giving Cassandra a chance to reply, but she said nothing. "Why don't you call Tim or Steph and see if they'll take you home. You can tell them I have a stomachache or something. You're good at that."

Sadie stood up and walked away. Cassandra's movements were more hesitant and she slowly reassembled her wardrobe. It was late. Tim and Stephanie were probably busy, but she couldn't tell Sadie that and didn't have any other good ideas. With some struggle she entered Stephanie's phone number in and, to her surprise, found it was still set in its civilian mode.

"Yello?"

"Stephanie, hi," Cassandra said.

"Hey! Did you get home okay?"

"No, we were waiting… Sadie has stomachache. Wanted to see if you could help me."

"You got me in the middle of some stuff… hang on."

Cassandra could faintly hear Stephanie and Tim talking, and within a minute she was back on the line. "Yeah, I can dodge out for a bit. I'll see you in a bit, okay?"

"Okay."

"Tell Sadie to feel better for me."

"I will. Good bye." A _click_ followed. Cassandra turned to Sadie. "She is coming. Said feel better."

"Good. Thanks." Sadie got off the couch and gave Cassandra a pat on the back. "I'm going to bed then. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."


	16. Chapter 16

Cassandra slept late the next morning and tried to go back to sleep after she did, but couldn't. She tried to pray the night before, but nothing besides simple, generic thoughts came. She was numb. More numb than she'd been in some time.

Hunger and a need for the bathroom pushed her toward movement, but she only rose when she heard, "Are you still really in there?" from the hallway.

Cassandra rolled toward the door, Damian stood just beyond the threshold with one eyebrow raised. "You weren't even out last night."

"Still sore." Cassandra said. It wasn't entirely untrue, but it was easier than explaining the night before. She was sure she wouldn't even have words for what had happened.

"Well, Father called. Whatever the League needed him for, he's finished now. Just going to need time to travel back."

Cassandra managed half a smile at that. Bruce was safe, that had to account for something.

There were still appearances to keep up with, so Cassandra pushed out of bed and walked to the bathroom. Though she'd been awake for at least an hour, it was as if her senses had only caught up with her. Her eyes felt crumby and sticky, though she couldn't remember crying the previous night. When she came to the shower, she turned the water up higher than usual. It stung a little on first contact, but she acclimated quickly. For reasons she wasn't sure of, she tilted the showerhead down and sat on the floor, buffeted by the hot water until it started to cool and she finally stepped out.

It was after noon when she stepped into the kitchen. It slowly passed her mind Damian's question should have seemed out of place, since she was out most nights and usually slept later. Unless he kept mental notes of when the team was actively working. Cassandra deemed that was a better thought not lingered on and scoured the pantries and refrigerator for something to eat. Alfred was probably on much a schedule of sleep and tech support for Bruce in the night, Cassandra hadn't seen him in days.

"You seem off."

Cassandra turned to Damian as she was undoing the knot on a bread bag. "Forgot you were here."

"Do you think I go anywhere during the day?" He passed her and walked to the refrigerator.

"I never see you much."

"Nobody ever told me to keep social. But I guess that doesn't mean much of anything directed at you, does it?"

Cassandra shook her head as she slipped half of a baguette out of its bag and cut two slices. "You never talk about it much."

"What?"

"Being younger." Inside, Cassandra wasn't sure how much of Damian's life she really wanted to hear about. But maybe he could just distract her for a while.

"If Father is to be believed, it was a lot like what you went through, just not to the same degree. Rigorous training, Mother always overseeing my progress, I have a lot to live up to."

Cassandra nodded as he spoke. "Did you know my parents?"

"More by reputation than anything. Shiva's still pretty legendary around there. No one trusts her as far as they can fight her, but my grandfather keeps in contact. Cain though, he's considered tarnished silver at this point."

"Tarnished?"

"I've only met him a few times, but I heard a lot of the talk. They joke that he had all the potential in the world and he just ended up creating two of the biggest pains the League deals with. My father and you, of course. He must be why you're feeling off, right?"

It was certainly easier to explain, so Cassandra nodded. "Yes."

"Why do you care though? I like to fight but even I'd hate him for what he did."

"I don't like pain. I want to save everyone I can. Even him."

"Were you always like this, or was it after your religious phase started?"

Cassandra's toast popped up. "Not a phase."

"You know what I mean."

Even with her own struggles, Cassandra did understand Damian wasn't trying to be disrespectful. He didn't understand the weight of some of his words, just like she didn't.

"David only taught me how to hurt and be hurt. Since I ran, I wanted to make things better for everyone."

It was only saying it aloud that Cassandra considered what similar things Connor had said. She became acutely aware that even if it had only been a day, she missed him already.

"Why the church stuff then?" Damian followed Cassandra as she buttered the toast and took it into Wayne Manor's massive dining room and sat herself at the head of a huge mahogany table. "Sounds like everything except your wardrobe has been exactly the same."

"You may not understand," Cassandra said. "Do you believe in God?"

"Never saw a reason to," Damian said. "Never came up back in the League. Mother only ever called religion a means of manipulating people. I know my grandfather had a few servants outside the League who worshipped him or saw him as some kind of savior, but they were always viewed as fools under his foot. What do you get out of it?"

Cassandra shrugged. "Don't always know… Used to think life was dark, that we were fighting the way things are. With God, I believe life is light, and we are protection."

"Do you really think there's such a big difference?"

"I don't know. But I like it better. Other reasons too, but that is important to me." The two sat in silence for a minute while Cassandra finished her toast. "What do you want when this is over?"

"What do you mean, over?"

Cassandra clutched one of her shoulders. "When we don't have to fight anymore."

"I don't think that day is ever going to come," Damian said. "Not the war my father fights. The League of Assassins have been around for centuries, common criminals are never going away for good. It'll never be over because we won, it'll be over because we quit."

Cassandra leaned into an open hand and rubbed her forehead. "Do you think that will happen?"

"I could do this forever," Damian said. "I give the college kids another year or two, tops. They're not made for this line of work."

"They're stronger than you know," Cassandra said.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Some days I just want to leave."

Damian frowned. "Why? You're so strong and so good at this even my father doesn't want to think about trying to fight you. He's said it himself."

"If I could help the sick, like Stephanie's mother, I would. If I could study and lend support like Barbara, I would. I only know how to fight and pray to help people, so I do."

"Nothing wrong with playing to your strengths," Damian said. "If it helps you get your head around it, there's saving people too. Hostages and targets and stuff like that."

Cassandra gave a halfhearted nod.

"Either way, there's always a lot of work to be done." Damian pushed up from his seat. "I'm going to get some cardio in."

Cassandra's nod served as a farewell and she leaned her head deeper into one of her hands. Their talk and the nature of their work had brought Connor back to the forefront of her mind. What would he have said to her?

Connor hadn't been clear if he actually believed in God or not, only that he didn't think it was a very important question. All that was actually important was the choices that were made and to keep other people from suffering.

Cassandra rubbed her forehead as she considered what that really meant. If she hadn't told Sadie to stop, only one of them would be suffering instead of both of them. Or would she really be suffering at all? Did she tell Sadie to stop because she wanted her to, or was it out of some misplaced obligation?

If it didn't matter to her that she was violating one of God's laws, why should it matter so much that she was violating another?

Even then, that was Connor's perspective, not hers. Cassandra had beliefs, Sadie knew about them. If she had given into sin and let Sadie do likewise, they would be suffering worse, she knew it. God's way wasn't always the easy way, she knew that.

Damian interrupted her reflections. "Hey, Brown just texted me, said you weren't answering your phone. She wants to know if you're coming to her, 'Reaping the Reapers' party tomorrow night or something. I assume you know what that means?"

Cassandra figured it must be Stephanie's gloat about defeating their armored foes all at once. She didn't especially want to go, she still didn't feel well, but didn't want them to know how she was feeling. "Where?"

"She just said to be at her and Drake's bunker by eleven. Fireworks go off at twelve, whatever that means."

Cassandra nodded and Damian departed again. At least she had another distraction to look forward to.


	17. Chapter 17

Cassandra arrived at the bunker the next night at Stephanie's given time. When she stepped out of the elevator Stephanie, in costume save for the cowl nearly took her to the ground with a running hug, took one of her wrists and led her to the right side of the room.

"Thanks for coming tonight," Stephanie said. "This is gonna be great."

Cassandra frowned as she looked around the bunker. The uniforms, weaponry, vehicles, everything had disappeared. The room was nothing but white paneling from one side to the other. "It's empty."

"Yeah, some of Bruce's awesome hideaway tactics," Stephanie said. "The whole floor can be lowered deeper underground and we can pull another one over it. Kind of weird to think about, but it's like all our stuff is the inside of an elevator." She stopped and tapped a foot. "This right here is the top of it, or something like that."

"Why is it empty?"

"Because this place is gonna get pretty messy tonight. Stephanie came to a keypad and punched in a few numbers. "We've been eavesdropping on those Reaper jerks. They've been zeroing in on our hideout, they all think they've gotta get their buddy's helmet back before we can decrypt it, they just don't realize we already did. All four of them are coming out tonight because they think that's what it might take to get the helmet back, but they have no idea we're already prepared for them."

A doorway was revealed when Stephanie pressed the _enter_ key and she led Cassandra into a small hallway before turning to a room with a large central monitor and a keyboard console. Tim was seated there, two empty chairs to his right. Some kind of wire hung from down Tim's head, Cassandra assumed he must have an earbud in.

"We all ready to rock, Boy Wonder?" Stephanie took a seat next to him. Cassandra follow suit with the third chair.

"Ran the tests a couple dozen times. Everything's in working order," Tim said. "All we've got to do is wait. They haven't even shown up for their costumes yet."

"You don't think they're gonna bail on tonight, do you?"

"After all the planning we've heard? Nah, they'll be here."

Stephanie leaned back in her chair, threw her legs onto the central console and crossed one over the other. "Four bad guys in one night. Bruce will get a kick out of this. How are you doing, Cassie? Barely heard anything from you yesterday."

"Tired," Cassandra said. "Out too late with Damian."

It hadn't been true, she and Damian were finished earlier than usual the previous night. But it was easier to explain than anything else.

"Is Sadie feeling any better?"

Cassandra had braced herself for the question for the last day, but it still took a lot not to flinch when it was asked. "Fine, I think. Haven't heard much."

"Hope it wasn't food poisoning or something," Stephanie said. "That's nasty."

"We've been to that restaurant a dozen times," Tim said. "I really don't think that would have been it."

"So what will happen when they come?" Cassandra was sure she already understood what Stephanie was implying earlier, but she was desperate to change the subject.

"We've spent the last week rigging our defense protocols into traps," Tim said. "We're going to let them break in, lock the doors and let our security system take care of the rest."

"I mean, every now and again somebody finds their way into the Batcave," Stephanie said. "It always goes wrong, but it's because Bruce is never expecting it. We've got this place covered like crazy. They can bust in, we'll knock them all out and have them off to Blackgate by breakfast time."

"Miranda just switched on her uniform." Tim leaned into the keyboard to type a note. "Slipstream's online too. I can already hear them."

Stephanie smirked. "Did they ever decide how they're getting here?"

"Sounds like they're coming by car to keep from looking conspicuous. One of them's got a beat up white electrician's van, those things tend to be hard to track. They're not far, I'd say we've got thirty minutes, tops."

Stephanie and Tim fell into cycles of ensuring all of the equipment was working, which kept attention away from Cassandra. She could have used another night off, even being out on the streets would be easier than sitting with Tim and Stephanie, waiting in paranoia for one of them to return of the sore subject of Sadie. But for the most part they held attention on one another.

Finally, the time came. "They're trash talking our cover-building," Tim said with a chuckle. "One of them's trying to hack the elevator."

"You've turned the alarm off, right?" Stephanie asked.

"Yeah. Just got give them a minute to try breaking in. They'll get suspicious if they get it right away."

In one corner of the oversized monitor a camera feed began to play. It displayed four figures, mostly shrouded in darkness, huddled around the door of the elevator that led to the bunker. Stephanie and Tim both kept snickering for a few minutes before Tim triggered the elevator to activate and the four stepped inside. With another click, he killed the lights in the bunker proper.

"I don't know if you can properly appreciate this," Stephanie said. "But this is going to be hilarious. You got the sound capture turned on, Tim?"

Tim clicked again. "I do now."

"Awesome. I wanna hear just how pissed off they're going to be."

With the flip of a switch the bunker's lights flashed to life, several groans and raised came from the gathered Reapers. They were a colorful, diverse looking motley crew. Cassandra recognized Slipstream and Harmony from their confrontation at the bank, the giant in green and the figure in hot-pink only familiar from the blurry pictures.

Stephanie leaned over the microphone with a wide smile on her face. "Hi there! Looks like you guys have wandered into a restricted area."

The four searched, frantic, for the source of the voice. Slipstream shouted, "Not you again! Get out here, girly!"

"No, I don't think I will. I'm quite cozy on the other side of my impenetrable wall. Smile, by the way. All of you guys are on camera."

"Impenetrable my ass," Harmony said. She beat her gauntlets together and approached the wall the three heroes his behind. "I can rip this place apart."

"We only came for Figment's helmet!" The green giant, Jabberwocky stepped toward her. "Don't waste your—"

Stephanie took her finger off the microphone and leaned back. "Timothy, if you would please."

Tim flicked a switch of his own and killed the audio feed into the room. When Harmony's fist smashed into the wall, all four of them appeared to shout and keel over to various degrees, even Harmony herself. A dull ring slipped into the secondary room and Stephanie activated a few buttons in front of her, the screen read, _Turrets 1-4 Active_. Four panels on the ceiling slid open, four mounted machineguns descended into the room.

Stephanie turned to Cassandra, "Rubber bullets. Honest."

Stephanie and Tim had almost completely sealed the bunker's main chamber after the Reapers had walked in, causing the already violent sound of Harmony's sonic punch to amplify with the acoustics. Distracted by the ringing in their ears, none were prepared when the turrets unleashed their fury.

Another furious round of noise bellowed just beyond the wall. Harmony was both the least armored and the least prepared, the blasts laid into and knocked her to the ground swiftly. Slipstream took notice and retreated with his speed from the room's center, directly behind over of the turrets and tried to regain his composure. Jabberwocky buffeted many before Miranda stepped to his side and forced open a bright, purple force field that gave the two enough cover to outlast the attack.

Stephanie entered another command into the computer. _Turret 6 Active_. "Check out Tim's screen," she said.

Cassandra looked to Tim's side of the space as a secondary screen zoomed in on Slipstream.

Still sure he had escaped the line of fire, a spray of green adhesive hit Slipstream like a firehouse and pushed him backward and into the corner. His body was sealed to the wall with a desperate struggle and shouts that were all drowned out by the fire of rubber bullets.

Stephanie's smile turned to laughter. "Holy crap! This is great! I didn't even dream it would work so well! Make sure to goop up the girl with the sonic punches too, Tim."

With Slipstream and Harmony cocooned the gunfire came to a slow stop. The barrier of hard light Miranda and Jabberwocky hid in held for a minute afterward until the two revealed themselves again.

"Bastards!" Jabberwocky looked between his fallen comrades. "Get out here and fight us properly!"

Stephanie leaned up to the microphone again. "Buddy, I'm happy my suit is insulated. Yours can bend steel, if my notes are right. Don't talk to me about a fair fight." She swiveled her chair toward Tim again. "I'm gonna take him out. You sure about that thing with the lasers we talked about?"

"Oh yeah," Tim said with a nod. "I know what I'm doing, leave it to me."

Jabberwocky ran up to the wall Harmony had already damaged and laid into it with his fists. From the sound of his punches pounding against the steel permeating into the observation room, it was clear it wouldn't take much for Jabberwocky to break through the wall. The main screen zoomed in on the center of the giant's fists as a small, escalating series of numbers slowly increased until they hit "100%."

The giant's body fell off balance, his right arm slumped to the floor and he groaned.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Miranda demanded.

"My arm… I can't move my arm!"

"Yeah, we only had time to build a disruptor for one of your suits based on the schematics we got from your buddy's helmet," Stephanie said. "We couldn't figure out a better way to take you out, so we just rendered one of your robot arms unusable."

"Nice try, but this one disconnects." Jabberwocky punched a few switches on his arm as the mechanical pieces within unclasped from one another.

The screen zoomed in again, this time on his left leg. Within moments of detaching the arm from his suit, Jabberwocky's leg was also frozen in place.

"What is going on here?!" Jabberwocky pulled and struggled, his armor now had him pinned down. "I thought you were supposed to be Batman's junior cheer squad. What is this, a _SAW_ movie?!"

"Well, I certainly hope not," Stephanie said. "I'd like this to be a one and done kinda deal. But if you guys wanna waste your time and money on a bunch of repetitive, crappy sequels, I guess it's your own fault."

"I'm gonna rip out her tongue!" Miranda attempted to push past Jabberwocky, but his dead suit weighed too much. With a shout she turned toward the spot on the wall as her hands started to pulsate with energy. "This is for making my team look bad!"

Miranda didn't get her chance. Tim pressed a last button and a blast of bright blue fired at her, pushing the villain backwards as she struggled to contain it.

She was almost laughing. "What is this, some big, fancy laser? You moron, I can absorb light!"

"I know how it works," Stephanie said. "The Doctor Light who isn't a complete creep works for the Justice League. Your suit is a colorful knock off of the one designed by the one who _is_ a creep. Like, literally a rapist. I don't know how wearing that suit isn't making your skin crawl." As the blast continued to bear upon Miranda her knees began to buckle and a quiet but still audible groan followed. "We know your costume can absorb hard light. This laser is dense enough that you should be overloaded her any minute now."

Tim's screen projected estimates on how much Miranda's suit could contain. From the look of the rolling numbers, she was swiftly reaching capacity.

"You can't do this!" She shouted. "Do you have any idea what you're dealing with?"

"Couple of would-be criminals who are gonna get expelled from Gotham U as soon as the cops get 'em good and booked. Yup."

A scream followed. Miranda flew backwards as Tim killed the laser. Her suit sparked and crackled, but as Miranda threw her hands at the structural weakness her companions had made, nothing came.

Stephanie rose from her chair, pulled on her cowl and motioned that Tim and Cassandra follow her out. As she stepped in front of the two to where their four immobilized opponents lay, she nodded and admired her handiwork. "Now you're all in big, big trouble."

Within an hour and a half the Reapers, forced out of their costumes and into the street clothes underneath, were handed over to the police a mile from Stephanie and Tim's bunker. Stephanie waved goodbye to the four as they were driven off and leaned back with her companions. "Barely had to lift a finger and we still won. It was a good night."

Even Cassandra cracked a small smile. The attack from the bunker had distracted her for a little bit. Maybe things wouldn't turn out so bad after all."

As the police drove off with the Reapers and their equipment packed into separate squad cars, Cassandra switched her communicator to civilian mode. There was a single new text message from Sadie. She sighed internally, her heart beat a little faster, she wasn't sure she wanted to open it. But when she did there were only three short, straightforward sentences.

 _Haven't been sleeping well since the other night. Wanted to talk to you. Crazy busy with school stuff, how about this weekend?_

Being in the condition it was, it wasn't as if Cassandra had much choice. She needed clarity on what had happened and what they both had done.


	18. Chapter 18

The rest of the week was uneventful. Cassandra laid in bed longer than usual, took longer and hotter showers and kept finding herself distracted whenever she tried to pray. She could handle the pain that was quick and fierce, whatever she was going through then just made her sore all the time. Just what had Sadie really done to her?

Cassandra forced herself out of bed at noon that Saturday when she received a message from Sadie that read, "On my way." Cassandra rose, dressed, ate a little something and waited just outside the manor's gate. Sadie probably still had a ways to go, but she didn't want to dawdle. It was a musty day, clouds covered the sky and threatened to turn to rain and the smell of dew-covered leaves filled the air.

Sadie pulled up ten minutes later. Cassandra took the front seat and observed how tight Sadie's grip on the steering wheel looked. It was always a little rough on the inside, the floor lined with empty cans and bottles and the smell of stale French fries always came from the backseat, even when it was clean.

"Hey," Sadie said. She only turned to face Cassandra halfway.

"Hey."

Sadie looked toward the window and chewed at her lip for a moment. "I know it isn't your specialty, but we obviously need to talk for a bit."

Cassandra clutched a handful of her own hair. "Yes… now?"

"Not right now. There's a place I go when I think about stuff. We'll go there."

Sadie drove down from the hills, winding past other mansions and expensive shops toward the wealthy suburbs. The roads wound, Sadie drove too fast, somehow it bothered Cassandra's stomach in spite of the far more perilous situations she'd regularly been in. Or maybe that was just the situation itself bothering her. Neither spoke the whole drive.

They eventually found themselves in a parking spot just outside of a large playground, the slide and handlebars built around a big structure made to resemble a rocket. Only one women, a few children and a dog ran around, the clouds still warned of rain.

"When I was a kid, my parents and Salty used to bring me here. We didn't have a lot of money, but even the rich kid's playgrounds still belonged to the whole community," Sadie said. "I used to talk about a lot of stuff at those swings over there. That's where I want to go."

Without another word, she stepped out of the car and toward the swing set. Cassandra followed a few steps behind and, for a few minutes, they just sat. The _creak_ of the chains, the way their feet scuffed against the dirt and the sound of the kids on the playground was the only noise between them.

"I'm sorry for the way things went the other day. I didn't mean to make you feel weird or uncomfortable or anything else. Just… acting in the moment, you know? I was paying attention, I stopped as soon as you told me to."

"I said it twice," Cassandra said.

"You did? I didn't hear you then." There was a twinge of annoyance in Sadie's voice. "I'm not a mind reader here."

"I know," Cassandra said. "I did not—" She stopped and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Well, that's not really important. I mean, it is important, just not what I'm trying to talk to you about right now." Sadie paused a moment, took a deep breath and a long exhale. "I'm sorry too. I'm kind of a mess right now, I know."

"It's fine."

Sadie pushed at the ground with her feet, forced her swing up a little and rocked back and forth. "Cassie... I really like you. I have always really liked you." She laughed softly. "The first time I met you, you saved my life. It's not like I have a lot of choice in liking you."

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong, and Cassandra knew it. Even through her jacket, Cassandra could see her body was tense, evidenced by the way she clutched the swing's chains.

"And I really want this thing to work. This you and me thing. But after the other night… I don't know how to explain it. It's given me a lot to think about."

"Are you leaving me?"

Sadie's eyes went wide for a moment as she slowly turned toward Cassandra. "I thought you were awful at context clues."

A tiny spasm ran through Cassandra's body, leaving her arms and legs with a tight clasp. "Are you leaving me?"

"Damn it, Cassie, I don't know." The response was both sharp and rough. "I don't want to—"

"Then don't."

"Don't interrupt me." Silence took both of them again for a minute. "I don't want to break up with you. But between the other night and the stuff about school and whatever the hell else is going on, I just want some space to think about things. I didn't… I really didn't get just what different wavelengths we're on."

"You don't want to marry me."

"I have no idea if I want to marry you or not! I'm a senior in high school and really wasn't planning on figuring something like that out right now." The previous gentleness was gone, even the kicks to the dirt were more aggressive. "I don't know if I want to marry anyone. Maybe I'm so sick of the people you go to church with trying to keep it to themselves that I don't even want it any more."

Cassandra flinched. "Do you mean that?"

"Just like everything else, I don't know right now." Sadie's voice was more stable then, but the previous frustration was still there. "When I first came out, I was sure dating one of these, I don't know, new wave, liberal, religious lesbians would be an awful idea. That no matter how okay they'd ever say it is there was always going to be something weird under the surface."

The tension in Cassandra's hand vanished, her blood felt like it froze. "An awful idea? Am I an awful idea?"

Sadie gripped her forehead, eyes shut tight, but a few tears slipped past anyway. "You really have to pull that crap on me right now, don't you?"

The pain was apparent on Cassandra's nearly pale face. "Your words, not mine."

"I know they were." When Sadie opened her eyes again, they faced nothing but dirt. "I know what you wish I could be. I'm not even mad at you for wanting it. But I don't think I'm ever going to be that person."

"What person?"

"I think you wish I could just go along with it like you do. That I'd just be able to go to church with you and pretend like nothing was wrong. That we could run off and get married and start adopting kids and living that life like there wasn't anything wrong. Like it wasn't really screwed up I was falling in with the same line of thinking that says we're diseased and going to hell for what we do."

Cassandra was gripping the chains of the swing tight enough to leave marks in her hands. "You said you didn't care what I believed."

"I don't, but that doesn't mean I want it for myself. And maybe I want to be able to date somebody without feeling like there's pressure. Maybe I want to be able to sleep with someone I care about without feeling like I'm swearing to it the rest of my life." For a minute, all that could be heard was the wind and an occasional _creak_ from the chains of the swings. "I just need some time to think about some stuff… I'm sorry."

For the last time, Cassandra asked, "Are you leaving me?"

The way Sadie's body lost all tension spoke to complete resignation. "Call it what you want to. I just need some time to think. About us, school, my life, whatever… if you wanna wait for me, I'll give you a call when I know, but I don't expect that." Sadie pushed up from the swing, tucked her hands in her pocket and sighed. "I wasn't trying to strand you out here, it's just where I'm comfortable. Can I drive you home?"

"… I will call Tim."

"Okay." Sadie took a step closer, bent down and wrapped her arms tight around Cassandra. Her words were quiet enough to be whispers. "You're a really, really good person. And I know you're going to make someone really happy."

As if the action was painful, Cassandra slowly raised one arm and clutched the back of one of Sadie's shoulders. "Why not you?"

After a few seconds, Sadie released her grip and laid a small kiss on her lips.

From somewhere nearby in the park, the middle-aged woman, shouted, "Hey! No! What do you think you're doing?"

Sadie gave it no attention, stood up straight, gave the best smile she could manage and wiped the last tears from her eyes. "Take care of yourself, Cassie. I'll see you later."

She made for her car in the direction of the shouting mother. Cassandra couldn't catch her words, but Sadie only acknowledged her enough to pick up the pace a little for her return to her car. After a few moments, the angered woman turned her attention toward Cassandra and made her advance.

Cassandra rose from the swing, her heart and mind raced in confusion and she ran in the opposite direction. Cassandra couldn't make much out, but just as she was escaping earshot she heard, "Yeah, you better get out of here! That's just like you do, ruining a nice day out for the rest of us, don't come back, dyke!"

She didn't know how far she'd run. She didn't know in what direction. She didn't know where home was. She just had to get away.

Cassandra finally stopped with a few heavy breaths at an intersection sign and tried to stabilize her breathing. What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to do it? Sadie had robbed her of all her reason. She hurt, she was confused, she didn't know if she had to stop and pick up the pieces or keep running.

In the cloud of confusion her phone began to vibrate. With a fumble she freed it from her pocket. It was Tim, strange as his timing seemed. Cassandra wasn't ready to talk to anyone, but he was already trying to contact her. She had to wonder if, somehow, he already knew.

She answered, "Yes?"

"Hey, Cassie. I uh… I have some news… you somewhere secure?"

She didn't know, but said, "Go."

"I know this is kind of unexpected. I want you to tell me if you have any reservations about this—"

"What?"

"Cassandra? Are you alright? You sound a bit off—"

"Nothing." She said. "Running. Tried. Go on."

"That big ship the Penguin uses as a casino and floats around the bay with? The Final Offer? You know what I'm talking about?"

It didn't matter. "What about it?"

"Bruce keeps tabs on Cobblepot through his businesses sometimes. Somebody was on the phone with Cobblepot, complaining someone stole his penthouse reservation and erased the record of it. I didn't catch all of what Penguin said, but he mentioned the new guy in the penthouse had some kind of special. Special on Musas."

Cassandra's heart began to race again. "You think—"

"I think there's a chance it's your father," Tim said. "We don't know, obviously, but someone needs to investigate. I don't know if you're up for it, but if it really is him and Lipov's leading him into a trap, he might listen to you."

The blessed distraction had come. "Pick me up. I'll do anything."


	19. Chapter 19

The penthouses within the Final Offer sat on the ship's topmost public floor. Each of the five floors of the ship contained an assortment of slot machines, tables, restaurants and entertainment like as jazz lounges. Several of the suites overlooked the top deck, which bore several bars and a swimming pool exclusively for use by a few scantily clad entertainers late into the night.

The penthouses themselves were not open spaces. For the most part, the rooms forwent the extra room for added luxuries, such bars, Jacuzzis adjacent to the living room and large beds. Each had a monochromatic design upon the carpet and décor that kept with the rest of the ship. Within one of the penthouses, an hour out from shore, several pieces of latex laid next to a bottle of body glue. The latex appeared to form several scars and lacerations. It was an old trick for throwing off security, give them a defining trait to look for and just peel it off.

The man renting the suite was in the bathroom, meticulously running over his neck with a straight razor. The years were catching up with him, even the surgeries the League funded couldn't keep all of the damage done invisible. There was a bottle of some inky black substance that would color his hair for the act and he could wash out without a trace afterwards, it would be nice to pretend to be young again.

David Cain did not turn when he heard the light _creek_ of the patio door being opened. His only response to the tiny footsteps that followed was to reach into his toiletries bag. Cain set down the razor and counted backwards. _Five. Four. Three. Two-_

Cain pulled a shuriken out from the bag and tossed it toward the sound. There was a _clap_ as the one advancing caught the weapon.

Without turning, Cain pulled a hand towel from his right side and wiped his face. "You're getting sloppy," he said. "That kind of cut-rate sneaking around might get you past the rest of this city, but I heard you coming a mile away."

"I didn't come here to fight."

David gave a sarcastic laugh. "Look who learned how to use contractions." He stood up straight, turned around and leaned against the bathroom sink, razor now hidden behind his back. Angel stood on the other side of the bathroom's threshold and the two met eyes. David snickered again. "I never cared for that voodoo doll look Wayne stuck you in, but this is far more ridiculous. What the hell are you supposed to be?"

"An angel," Cassandra said.

"Well, curiosity is killing me on this, but I've got a job to do." As he spoke, David slowly slid another hand behind his back toward his bag of toiletries. "What do you want?"

"You were set up," Cassandra said. "Lured here, he wants to kill you."

"A sting, huh?" David raised an eyebrow. "Why should I believe that? Who other than your boss is out to get me?"

"Lipov."

The look that taunted Cassandra faded after her response, Cain's face became hardened. "Lipov? Why do you know that name?"

"He attacked me, said he wants to revenge on you."

David took it in for a few seconds before the tension returned to his body and the concentration to his face. "Victor Lipov is dead. I killed him years ago."

"I don't know if he is Victor. Maybe a brother or a cousin."

"Vic didn't have any family alive, let alone anyone who would bother avenging him. He's long gone."

"Then why would he say that?"

"I don't know. And I don't really care," Cain said. "I've got a job to do, if Lipov's ghost wants to bother me, I'll kill him again. Stand aside."

"Did he know about me?"

Cain's glare narrowed. "What?"

"Did he know you… planned to make me?"

"No."

"Nothing?"

"I threw around a few ideas about raising an assassin without speech now and again, nothing else. Why?"

"He has a servant. Never talks, fights like I do."

The father and daughter shared a stare, David stood in silent contemplation. "Your claims are so absurd, they couldn't possibly be convincing if you had just made them up. But if all that is true, why are you bothering with me?"

"I want to protect you."

"You're fooling yourself, kid. I don't believe for a moment that's what Wayne taught you. You're supposed to protect the innocent, something I couldn't be further from."

"I want to protect everyone that I can. I found grace, others can too."

"You care to tell me what brought this on?" Cain eyed her up and down. "What is this, some kind of religious guilt catching back up with Wayne?"

"It was my choice." Cassandra said. "Saved a priest. He was my teacher."

Cain chuckled and shook his head. "A priest. Of course. My parents were Baptists, you know." He slipped two fingers into his toiletries bag again. "They would be so disappointed."

Cain tore another shurriken from his bag and threw it at Cassandra. One of the points grazed her cheek, Cassandra grabbed it to slow the blood. Cain closed the distance and punched her between the eyes, knocking her back onto the king-sized bed with a struggled shout of pain.

"Amateur! You let your guard down." Cain cracked his knuckles. "And that explanation of yours was pathetic. Giving a scenario too absurd to sound real was a strategy Wayne picked up from me."

Angel pushed up and took her stance. She knew there could be a fight, she had prepared herself. Yet something was already wrong, a delirium that punch, like so many before, shouldn't have caused.

Cain threw another punch, Cassandra regained her guard and blocked it. Even mere feet from her, Cain's body seemed to blur and as he spoke, his words became distorted.

"Neurotoxins," Cain said. He threw a kick, Cassandra blocked with her forearm but still felt the strike beneath her armor. "You're too persistent to tranquilize with so little, just think of it as me evening the playing field."

If Lipov intended to strike that night, he was already aboard the vessel. If Cain would not come on his own, she had to extract him as fast as possible.

With enough squinting, Angel's vision was manageable. She struck his upper-pectorals twice with two fingers, each attack forced a shout out of Cain, but he regained his composure, grabbed Angel by her hair and tossed her against the sliding glass to the patio. Some of the glass cracked when her back hit the panel.

Cain flashed a grin. "You can't hit something as small as a pressure-point when you're already fighting the toxin!" He threw another punch, Angel dodged and he regained control before his fist shattered the glass entirely.

Her father was right, she didn't really have control of her senses. Angel drew her katana and swung erratically, Cain outmaneuvered each strike. Cain raised an arm, accepted a swing and only winced for a moment.

"Dulled. Absolutely pathetic." Cain weaved to the left and forced a strike into Angel's side, between where her front and back plates of armor met and made her grunt in pain. "If you have to insist on blunt weapons, a bo would be far better. This is style over substance."

When Cain went for another strike, Angel caught him by his wrist, twisted his arm around her body and threw him to the ground. Cain yelled and struggled all the while. For a moment Angel considered strike his heart. A proper distribution of pressure could shut his whole body down, but she concluded it was too risky. She couldn't use Shiva's technique if she couldn't aim clearly. Instead she dropped her weapon, took hold of his arm, positioned herself at his side and began to twist away from his body. Cain grit his teeth and shouted, he knew enough twisting could snap his bones in two.

Cain fumbled on the floor with his free hand until he got ahold of Angel's katana. His position wasn't good, but it gave him enough reach to hit Angel on her neck and beat against her face. Angel lost her determination when a glancing blow burst open her nose, she was forced to step back and grabbed at it as blood seeped through her gloves.

Cain pushed off the floor and switched his grip to rub his twisted arm. "What do you think any of this is going to do? We're an hour off the docks, there's no way you're getting me out of here without arousing attention and you know full well this is Cobblepot's boat. His security's gonna be a lot harsher to you than they are to me."

"Then stop fighting!" Angel had tried the whole night to push out her anger, both toward Cain and the emotional wounds from earlier, but she had reached a breaking point. "I came to save you!"

"Save me from a bitter Russian ghost. Yeah, I'm sure." Cain raised the katana. "If this pickup plan wasn't so idiotic, I'd believe you set me up yourself. But I did raise you to be a fighter, not a thinker."

Angel's body clenched. "Stop it! Listen to me, one time—"

"Talk is cheap, Cassandra. Put up your fists. This is your last warning."

Angel tried to swallow her anger as she raised her fists, but there was enough to infect her battle stance with shakes. Cain would not listen to anything. Despite the haze and its obstruction, she has to defeat him.

The father and daughter battled in their stares, each, through labored breaths, dared the other to make a move.

The lock of eyes was broken with a creak at the door behind them. Both looked toward the penthouse's entryway as two men looked in on them.

"Your child comes to you with a warning and you just end up fighting with her. I suppose you trust as well as you can be trusted."

Angel looked to the door and swallowed hard in anticipation. Cain's eyes widened, his mouth went slack.

"What's wrong, David?" Lipov sneered as the Odmience stepped up to his side on the other side of the door. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"Vic… you're… you're dead."

Angel raised her katana and took a tiny note of the name Cain had used. Even if the man wasn't Victor Lipov, even her father had mistaken the two.

"Yes David, I am dead." Lipov shut the door, he and his apprentice approached slowly. "Victor Lipov died years ago and I am a corpse, overflowing with demons, feeding on his residual rage." He laughed. "Or perhaps the demons came into my corpse and I sent them all away, because none of the forces in Hell hate as I hate you. Odmience!"

The masked warrior drew his blade and rushed toward Cain. Cain snapped out of his daze and blocked his first three strikes with Angel's katana. Angel threw a punch at Odmience's face, but he caught and clenched it with his free hand. Cain took a swing of his own and forced him back toward Lipov in a dodge.

Cain spoke between deep breaths. "Do you expect some kind of apology?"

"No time," Angel said. "We need to fight them."

"Thata girl." Cain glared at the two across the room. "I killed Lipov once, I'll do it again if you can handle the kid."

"Not like this," Angel said. "Still hazy."

"Fine then." Cain turned and the two shared a nod before they faced their opposition. "We'll take him together."


	20. Chapter 20

Cassandra struggled to take account of the situation between blows and dodges with the Odmience. Stephanie was one floor down, ready to offer backup, Cassandra just hadn't had a chance to contact her. Tim was back in the bunker, operating a remote-controlled speedboat hiding just under the surface of the ocean and trailing the Final Offer. She was still fighting some kind of sensory-attacking neurotoxin alongside her father, whom she hadn't willingly sided with since she was a child. And no matter how hard she focused, Sadie had still left a dull pain in the front of her head.

Lipov remained against the door, observing the exchange of blows with a smirk on his face. Angel and Cain came at the Odmience from multiple sides whenever they could. Every effort was lost to his superior maneuverability. His sword remained in its sheath and he took his time before inflicting a single attack. Despite his age a single strike from Cain could have done some damage, the Odmience treated his attacks with wariness. Angel had enough trouble keeping up in their first battle, but she was slowed by the fight with Cain and the numbing agents still infecting her body. Odmience was a black blur jumping and dodging out her attacks, which she knew were swinging wide. It seemed he was just measuring them up.

Odmience broke his passive behavior with a smash to Cain's side onto his ears, forced a shout out of the old assassin and thrust two fingers into his throat. Cain was forced backwards and gripped at his neck as he gagged. Angel slid in with a kick in the hopes of catching him off guard, but Odmience caught her foot, twisted it and brought her to the ground with a slam. Angel grit her teeth to stifle a shout.

"Time's caught up with you, David," Lipov said. "And I don't know what's wrong with your spawn, but she's not her usual self."

Cain fumbled around the back of the bar until he could wrap his fingers around the throat of a bottle of wine. He ran toward Odmience, bottle lifted over his head and swung for his opponent's face. Odmience released Cassandra's foot, caught the bottle by its body and locked himself and Cain in place. As she pushed past the pain, Angel pushed herself forward and struck the Odmience in the back of his knee. The strike forced him off balance and dropped him to half of a kneel. The Odmience turned to face her with his cold, blue eyes, but Cain smashed the bottle into the back of his head. Shattered glass and wine spilled all over the floor, Odmience's eyes clasped firmly shut, but he didn't make a sound.

"Stay down, boy," Cain said through labored breaths. "I don't have to kill you over the stupidity of that corpse over there."

"Being a corpse isn't so bad," Lipov said. "It's coming back that really hurts. You should spare yourself the agony."

Still fighting the drugs in her veins, Angel's perception was a fraction of its normal power. She was too busy fighting off the ringing in her head to watch Odmience's hand as he grabbed ahold of a shard of glass from the broken bottle. The Odmience whirled upward, tore a slash into Cain's stomach and forced him to shout and grip the wound. With his cry Angel pulled back to her feet and swung her blade at the Odmience, but her foe drew his own sword and parried her strike.

As Angel and the Odmience exchanged blows, Cain scanned the room. The neurotoxins left Angel vulnerable, her armor was forced to take most of the Odmience's strikes and began to show signs of wear and tear. She could block some of his moves, but most made contact, some certainly hard enough to cause bruising beneath the armor. Cain moved toward the sliding glass door that led to the balcony, slow and quiet so as not to attract attention. Despite his efforts, he was acutely aware Lipov hadn't taken his eyes off of him since the battle began.

Angel was facing him, the Odmience was faced away. Even he couldn't dodge what he couldn't see. Cain slipped a finger through the center of the toxic-tipped shurriken, still sitting on the floor, and threw it.

The weapon left a small cut in the back of Odmience's neck, which he threw Angel from a blade lock in order to assess. Seconds later the figure in black was hunched over and clutching his forehead.

The sneer Lipov wore faded away. "What have you done?"

"I poisoned her before we started fighting," Cain said. "If you wanna prove your little monster's better than mine, he's going to have to do it on equal footing."

"Deceitful bastard! Same as always! Odmience—"

The warrior in black did not wait for Lipov to complete his command. The Odmience turned toward Cain, his senses already starting to betray him, rushed and tackled Cain. For a moment there was a deafening shatter as the two bodies flew through the glass door. Cain shouted, bits of glass dug into his back as the Odmience held him to the ground and pounded against his face. Angel followed the two out, forced the Odmience's arms over his head, locked her hands from behind and trapped him atop Cain's body. Cain grasped a piece of the shattered glass and attempted to gut the Odmience before Angel rose and pulled their opponent away.

"No," she said.

"I don't have time for this," Cain said. "He and that Ukranian ghost came here to kill us. I'm not giving them any of your special treatment."

Odmience loosened his arms, pulled his feet off the ground, slipped free of Angel's grip and ran toward Cain. Still reeling for the smash through the window, Cain mustered the strength to catch and throw the Odmience when he'd closed the distance, tossing his small body over the balcony. Angel ran to the edge to see what had happened, Odmience's fall was cut in half by a large awning that extended over the sundeck, but still hit the ground with a _crash_. The handful of passengers nursing drinks at one of the outdoor bars were staring up at her in confusion.

Angel's senses were slowly returning to normal as her earpiece relayed a message from a floor down. "You guys are making a lot of noise," Stephanie said. "R.R. and me locked all the doors out to the pool, but everybody's looking out there, trying to figure out what's going on."

Angel said, "I know," to confirm she got the message. She jumped over the balcony rail, hit the awning and descended next to Odmience as he pushed to his feet. Whether from the fall or the toxin, the Odmience had lost his eerily still stance. Shakes ran all over his body as he faced Angel again.

Over drunken shouts of gamblers asking what was going on and if they were seeing some kind of performance, Angel locked eyes with the Odmience. "We can stop," she said. "Please… I don't want to hurt you."

The two held their positions, neither moved a muscle for the other save for the little shakes and spasms from the toxin.

The mutual freeze was broken by the screech of gunfire, a bullet bore into the deck of the ship mere feet from where the Odmience stood. Angel and the Odmience looked up to see Cain struggling against Lipov, the bullet only missed the Odmience thanks to Lipov's interference. Angel's opponent in black looked between Angel and the struggle before he turned and ran for the side of the ship. Angel pursued him.

"Security's about to get through the doors," Stephanie said over Angel's headset. "Get off that sundeck, Penguin's thugs aren't going to take kindly to you being here."

Angel was about to reply, but stopped when Odmience pulled himself over the protective rail and jumped off the ship. "No!"

She ran as fast as she could and caught sight of the Odmience as he caught ahold of the protective barrier on a room's patio. He dropped from one to another, further down the spoke as Angel followed his lead. "What was that? What's going on?"

"Retreating. He's going down." Angel said.

"Crap, probably heading for the lifeboats or something. Actually, wait, that should be a good thing. I'll get Red to pull up that drone he's got following the ship. We've got him cornered! I'll be down as soon as I can get changed, I can't descend without my cape."

Angel barely listened. Men and women from the rooms screamed and shouted in confusion and fear as the two descended the cruise liner before Odmience paused on one of the lower decks. A few feet away was the ledge of the boat, the lifeboats hung over the water. Again the Odmience stopped to look between his options.

"Stop!" Angel shouted as loud as she could.

The Odmience took his chance and ran. With a proper boost by jumping off the railing, the jump would have been possible. However, the Odmience's depth-perception was still damaged by the toxins running through his blood. He got a single hand atop one of the many small, orange crafts but failed to get a grip and fell. Angel brought a mouth to her hand in horror as the body in black fell and crashed into the ocean. By the best she could remember, Angel remembered thirty feet could be fatal. Even if that number meant nothing to her in that moment, she was sure the fall had to have been more than that.

"He fell," Angel said into her earpiece. "He's in the water. He could drown."

"God… Don't go after him."

Angel was already strapping her grappling hook to the rail. "I have to."

"It's too dangerous, there's no sense in both of you being in there! Red's got heat sensors on the drone, he can just grab him."

Nothing could convince Angel he could get there quick enough. She pulled off the individual white sections of armor covering her chest, arms and legs and repelled down the side of the ship. Between toxins and desperation, Angel's mind hadn't formed any kind of strategy. She just had to get ahold of the Odmience as fast as possible. Nothing else mattered.

Angel hit the water in less than a minute, it was cold and clung to her suit from the first contact. She swam in the opposite direction of the cruise ship, pushed aside by waves of water the boat displaced. Though she tried desperately, she couldn't make out a black body in the dark of the night in the ocean. He had to be there, she knew he did.

Salt water slapped her face. For all Angel knew, she was barely holding surface over hundreds of feet of water a thousand miles from the shore. Still she pushed and kicked. She had to find her opponent. She couldn't leave him behind.

 _Please… please—_

A pair of overpowering lights overtook Cassandra's vision on her left side. With fizzles and gurgling, a structure rose out of the water. Cassandra swam toward it and recognized Tim's drone as it slowly converted from undersea to boat mode, the top of the vehicle in the middle of opening like a convertible car. To one side Cassandra found a ladder and pulled herself onto the ship. In the center, laying deathly still, was the Odmience.

"Angel—hey! Angel!"

Cassandra turned and saw a radio near the driver's seat and pulled it from its place. She looked between it and the Odmience and decided to answer. "I'm here."

"Thank God. Thermal on this thing picked up two bodies fresh off that ship. Is the other one that Odmience guy?"

"Yes," she said. "He's hurt. Badly." Cassandra examined him for a moment and her heart began to race anew. "Not breathing."

"No? Damn it. I'm pulling up to pick up Batgirl, she knows CPR—"

"No time," Cassandra said. "No time. What do I do?"

Tim didn't respond at first, as if in consideration before he said, "Get the mask off and uncover his chest."

Cassandra set the radio aside and pulled the Odmience closer before she tugged at his mask, but it wouldn't come free. His entire costume seemed to be a single piece. She felt around on his back, came to a zipper, pulled it down and peeled the costume from his skin. From the first sight of flesh Cassandra cringed. The Odmience's back was overwhelmed with scars, both fresh and faded. With enough pulling she separated the mask from his face. He was nearly bald, the first of blonde stubble just pricked through his scalp. The scars followed through to his face, which Cassandra lingered on for a moment. Despite all the marks, she could see he was young. Younger than her, maybe. If he looked that way in spite of the scars, she could only imagine how he would look without them. The thought made her even sicker before she resumed pulling at his costume.

The most prominent of all his scars was one directly over his throat, which his costume had traced. It ran deep, Cassandra was sure of it, though she couldn't tell how far. With a last pull she revealed his bare chest, covered in the same marks and positioned two hands over his heart.

"Ready."

"Okay," Tim said. "One. Two. Three. Four."

Cassandra pushed with every count, her mind raced in fear at the thought of breaking his ribs with too much pressure. Some compressions were lighter than others, some were deeper to compensate.

"Fifteen. Two rescue breaths now."

Cassandra held Odmience by his forehead and chin and pressed her mouth against his. The lips felt so cold, she had to keep going.

"One. Two. Three. Four."

 _Please_. Cassandra pleaded internally. _Everything is so wrong. Sadie is gone. Lipov has David. Not this too. Please, not this too._

"Two more breaths."

His lips were still ice. Cassandra did a third for good measure and lost her place when Tim chanted the compressions again.

 _Is this punishment? Is that what today is? Have I failed you?_

"Five. Six. Seven."

Cold. Cold.

 _Please don't test me. I know I ran once, I won't again. I promise._

"Eight. Nine. Ten."

Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold.

 _Please, let me save him… Isn't that what you want?_

"Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen—"

The Odmience rose he was undead, mouth and eyes wide open as he vomited up bile and seawater before collapsing back onto the floor of the boat, unconscious but breathing. Cassandra breathed a sigh and grabbed the radio. "He is breathing again."

"Good." Tim said. "Steph should be with you in a few minutes, we'll get the ship back in and run some tests, he's going to need some more treatment, I'm sure of it. What about David and Lipov?"

Cassandra looked down at the floor. "I don't know."

"Don't linger on it then," Tim said. "We have his assassin. Maybe now we can finally get some answers.

Cassandra looked up and down the Odmience's scarred body. There would be answers, she was sure. It was a matter of what horrors they would reveal. She practically collapsed into one of the seats. She'd have to cuff Odmience before he woke up, she had no idea how far they were from Gotham. But she had both captured and saved someone that night. She had earned a brief reprieve.


	21. Chapter 21

The remote-controlled motorboat made a last circle around the Final Offer to allow Stephanie to descend down. She and Cassandra shared halfhearted smiles before she picked up the radio and informed Tim she had boarded.

"Good," Tim said. "I'm going to bring it back to the bunker now. There should be a scanner underneath one of the seat cushions, next to the floatation devices. Can you find it? Should be shaped like a blow dryer."

After some rummaging, Stephanie pulled out the device and showed it to Cassandra. "Yeah, I found it."

"Give a run over his body and suit," Tim said. "It'll scramble any radio or Wi-Fi signals he might be giving off. We don't want his boss to be able to track him."

Stephanie complied while exchanging uneasy looks with Cassandra as she got a better look at the Odmience's body. "This is just nasty," she said. "A lot of these are way too faded, he's had them for a long time."

"I thought so," Cassandra said.

Tim's scanner didn't pick up on anything initially, but softly beeped several times when Stephanie turned him over and ran the device over his neck. "Oh my God, apparently he's chipped like a dog." She laid a hand on a small mark at the nape of his neck. "Do you think Lipov did all this?"

"I don't know," Cassandra said.

"Seems inconsistent," Tim said over the radio. "I thought he was supposed to be Lipov's finest accomplishment. Maybe he's just been out on a lot of assignments, had a lot of chances to get hurt. I'm setting the boat on autopilot so I can get to a place to rendezvous. See you two in a bit."

Stephanie and Cassandra sat back and let the boat carry them, each wondering what all of the events of the night really meant. Cassandra's focus remained on the scar around his throat, wide enough she could see its end even when he was turned over.

After over an hour of silent travel by boat the vehicle finally stopped on an abandoned harbor twelve miles from downtown. A single armored truck waited near the pier and Tim revealed himself with a glow of a flashlight. The three loaded the unconscious Odmience into the back of the truck. A modified wheel stretcher sat in the center, where the assassin was laid and restrained. None of them said much, Cassandra and Stephanie looked down at the Odmience from time to time to ensure he hadn't stirred. He was motionless apart from his breaths.

After another thirty minutes of travel and fifteen loading the enemy into the bunker, Tim went to work running X-rays and analyses while Stephanie made coffee. Cassandra sat next to Tim as the date slowly rolled in, revealing fractures in the skeleton and images upon images of scarred skin. After initiating communications, Alfred's face sat on the lower-left side of the screen.

"I'm not a doctor, but I can still tell this is really bad," Tim said. "Can I get a professional second opinion, Al?"

"Broken bones are rarely a positive, Master Timothy," Alfred said. "But none of the damage looks permanent. One of his arms and his ribs got the worst of it."

"Tried to be careful," Cassandra said.

"Breaking the ribs in CPR isn't really a bad thing," Stephanie said. She passed mugs off to Tim and Cassandra. "You know, considering the alternative."

"You might be interested to know about that mark across his throat," Alfred said. "He's completely mute, someone severed his vocal chords."

Cassandra glared at the images on the screen. "Lipov."

Tim leaned against his desk and looked toward her. "You think so?"

"David wanted silence from me," Cassandra said. "He is supposed to be the same."

Tim sighed and sipped his coffee as he leaned closer to the console. "Great. Can't exactly interrogate someone who can't say anything."

"He might know how to write," Alfred said.

"I wouldn't think so," Stephanie said as she returned to the room. "Bruce said Cassie's dad just tried to raise her in violence or something. Being able to read and write doesn't fall in with that."

"There's a line of marks on the underside of his left arm. Let me enlarge them." Alfred tapped a few keys and his mouse before an image of the Odmience's scarred flesh appeared on the screen. Cassandra couldn't see what he was referring to and even Tim and Stephanie had to squint as Alfred moved over the marks with his cursor. "There are letters. Looks like 'R-A-F-A-L.'"

Tim scratched his head, as if he still didn't see anything. "Does that mean something?"

"It's a name, the Polish equivalent of Raphael," Alfred said.

"Unless they're self-inflicted, that doesn't really mean anything," Stephanie said. "I mean, are they self-inflicted? There's a way you can tell, but I don't know it."

"I'd have to examine them longer," Alfred said. "I looked over the information for Miss Cassandra's talk with Shiva, could you conclude if the man perusing you is Victor? Rafal may be his first name if not."

"David said Vic," Cassandra said. "Called him Ukrainian."

"Eastern Europe and western Asia have a lot of commonalities. I could be misreading it in the first place, it was just something to consider," Alfred said.

"So he can't talk, but he might be able to read and write." Stephanie rubbed her chin for a moment. "Cassie, the reports said Lipov gives him orders, right? Like, you know, verbally?"

"Yes."

"Well than he can understand some language. I guess Lipov wasn't as hardcore as your dad was. Maybe we can talk to him. Maybe he'll understand."

"We can try, at least." Tim pushed up from his chair. "Let's get him into the holding cell, we can try getting some info tomorrow. Night's still got a few hours in it and I want a chance to get out, I'm getting cabin fever in here. Steph, can you keep an eye on him for the night?"

"Bleh, just I've got a report on Tuesday. Thought I'd have a chance to catch up."

"I can do it," Cassandra said.

Tim frowned. "You've gotta be exhausted."

"I will be fine. I can rest all of tomorrow."

Tim motioned to the door. "Let's get him moved first, then we can figure all that out."

The Odmience was moved, stretcher and all, into the bunker's holding cell across from the surveillance room. After a short discussion, Tim and Stephanie stepped into the bunker's elevator, Stephanie with the assurance she'd return shortly with a textbook and her laptop. Cassandra wouldn't have to do anything, they assured, the cell was properly reinforced and delicately electrified for extreme circumstances. They were only watching him to observe his condition was still stable.

Despite the Odmience lying unconscious, Cassandra couldn't take her eyes from the screen. She had already made some assumptions from his movements and behaviors, but she felt she had confirmation. The Odmience was a victim. Like she had been.

Questions followed. Was he Lipov's son? How long had he been doing this, really? What had Lipov done to him?

How desperately must he want to be free?

Stephanie returned half an hour later and Cassandra allowed her to concentrate. In spite of that, it was clear studying was a losing effort.

"Cass?"

"Yes?"

"Wake me up if I start dozing off."

Cassandra was sure she should have been tired, but the events of the day had left her restless. Without realizing it she was anxiously tapping at the desk the keyboard sat on. She wanted to sleep, but felt completely unable, as if she had forgotten how. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen, she observed the Odmience's every breath. Eventually crinkle of pages and the tapping of keys stopped. Stephanie, as she feared, slipped into sleep. Cassandra remained wide awake.

She could have watched for half an hour or until dawn, she couldn't tell, but Cassandra's patience was eventually rewarded. It began was a small shake of the head and the slow opening of eyes, all that was needed to get Cassandra's full attention. The Odmience slowly took in his surroundings, rolling over as much as he could and squinting to better make out the room. He pushed against his bonds with his good arm, but was too powerfully restrained to make an impact. Then he tried to kick up from the stretcher, but to no avail. The realization that he was trapped slowly took over his face as he grit his teeth through the struggle. The Odmience beat his hand and feet into the stretcher and craned his neck before rolling his head to the side and bit the material. Cassandra observed this, at first in confusion, before she looked carefully at his eyes. They were puffing up and red, he was sobbing.

Something forced Cassandra out of her seat. Pity, empathy, bad memories, it didn't matter. She emulated the flip of a few switches Tim and Stephanie had used earlier, turning off the electric barrier and muting the camera. When Stephanie stirred, eyes still closed, enough to ask, "What're you doing?" Cassandra just said, "Bathroom." It was enough that Stephanie seemed to fall back asleep. Cassandra knew she and Tim wouldn't approve, but she couldn't help herself.

The bunker's holding cell wasn't intended for anything long term or for heavy struggle. It worked mostly on the assumption that so long as the prisoner was on the other side of the bars and didn't have any superpowers, there was nothing to fear. Cassandra scanned her palm and entered the holding room connected to the bunker's main chamber, the bars and another pad all that separated her and the Odmience. He only acknowledged her for a moment before he resumed kicking, biting and struggling with all his strength.

Cassandra stared at him without saying anything at first. She didn't have the words to articulate, and even then, would it have mattered? He must have known they had history, even if they'd never met. What did that moment matter?

"… Rafal?"

The Odmience froze, mouth half-full of stretcher. He turned toward Cassandra, a tiny shake down his chin before he again dug his face away from where she could see. Cassandra was sure he was sobbing again.

Cassandra moved closer and again said, "Rafal."

Another shake ran through his body. He was more like a wounded animal than a young man. His leg was caught in a trap and all he could do was mewl to himself.

The sight made Cassandra sick to her stomach. She couldn't watch him any longer, Cassandra thrust her hand onto the panel and slid the door of the cell open. The Odmience was still turned away so Cassandra put a hand on his shoulder and back. She steadied her voice as best she could and, with nothing but a rub at his back, repeated, "Rafal." For minutes the two remained in silence as the pain pulsated through their beings.

Then there was fire in the side of her stomach.

Cassandra remained over the Odmience, motionless despite the pain save for a widening in her eyes. She wasn't sure what had just happened or what the horrible pain was. Slowly she looked down. The Odmience had a free arm and one of her own batarangs was stabbed into her side. Cassandra slowly looked at him, more in shock than anything else. The Odmience pulled the batarang from Cassandra's body and backhanded her as she keeled in pain. The strike was enough to force her to the ground as the Odmience used the weapon to pull the restraint on his broken arm loose.

Cassandra gripped her wound and when she spoke her voice was heavy with breath and desperation. "Please. Please don't."

The Odmience paid her no mind. With a few pulls he freed his broken arm from its restraint and slipped it free. Cassandra pushed back to her feet, kicked his good hand and knocked the batarang to the floor. With tears of despair and anger in her own eyes, Cassandra grabbed ahold of the Odmience, fingers on the side of his neck, thumbs pressed into his throat.

"I want to save you!"

The Odmience twisted his face, Cassandra couldn't make out what emotion he could have been showing. Then he thrust his good hand, open-fisted, into her chest, knocking the breath from her lungs. Than another strike and another, across her center and her arms. By the time Cassandra realized her was striking her pressure points, it was too late to stop him. With her other options limited, Cassandra threw a kick at his face. The Odmience avoided the strike, but Cassandra hit the stretcher at a bad angle and knocked it over, putting the Odmience on the ground and smashed part of the wooden frame into her foot. With her arms still rendered useless Cassandra could only jump on her other foot and shout as she fought off the pain. With a last punch to the knee, the Odmience forced Cassandra to the ground next to him and trapped her in a headlock.

Cassandra shouted and beat her feet against the floor, but nothing would loosen his grip. Even as she gasped, she couldn't inhale. Options limited, she shut her eyes, ceased her movements and played dead.

After over a minute without oxygen the Odmience released his grip and resumed working on the restraints around his legs. Cassandra silently considered what she could still do as she let a little saliva out of her mouth to improve her performance. She had lost her armor back on the boat, her communicator had fallen from her ear at some point in the struggle and her arms remained useless. All she could do was wait until they regained feeling and take the Odmience by surprise.

For a few minutes all she could make out was the struggle. The restraints rubbed and clicked as the Odmience worked at them, with her tiny peeks Cassandra could see he was inching closer. The feeling was returning to her arms, but she feared it might not come fast enough.

The last restraint near his feet took the longest, but as the Odmience worked at it Cassandra was sure she had regained most of the feeling in her arms. It wasn't ideal, it wasn't even desirable, but as the Odmience stood up, she knew it was her last chance.

Cassandra forced herself from the ground and aimed a last punch at the Odmience's face. In the moment she saw the look in his eyes, it was clear. He knew she was waking it. He was preparing from the moment she had started playing dead.

The Odmience sidestepped her strike and threw her to the ground. Before Cassandra could regain her ground, the Odmience stomped on her left foot hard enough to elicit a sickening _crack_ and a scream of pain.

Cassandra forgot all else and grabbed toward her broken foot and gasped for breath. For one moment the Odmience stood over her. Whatever anger was in his eyes when she stepped in, whatever sorrow the name, "Rafal" had brought him, everything was gone. There was nothing in his eyes.

As she tried to push off the ground a last time, the Odmience punched her in the face. The longest day of Cassandra's life finally ended.

[[Happy three year anniversary.]]


	22. Chapter 22

When Cassandra awoke, her vision was still blurred, the yellow of the fading sun all that was clear at first. After vision came feeling, largely that one of her feet was elevated over the other and wrapped tight. With feeling came soreness all over her body and the lingering toll from the battle. Hunger and dehydration followed until all of her being hurt.

"You're finally awake."

Cassandra rolled to the side opposite the window. She felt better, if only a little. Bruce was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and dressed in an old sweater and some slacks.

"Dad." Speaking made her throat hurt even more, and as she looked around and realized she was laying in her bedroom, she noted a glass of water on her nightstand. Cassandra grabbed ahold of the cup and drank it. As she set the glass down, the tiny happiness within faded. Bruce wore a stern look on his face.

"How are you feeling?" From his voice Cassandra knew he cared deeply, but there was a more pressing matter he was desperate to get to.

"I don't know," she said.

"Do you remember what happened?" He stepped into the room and drew in closer.

Cassandra turned away enough that Bruce only appeared in her periphery. "We fought. In the bunker."

"You approached the Odmience in the cell. He broke your foot," Bruce said. "Alfred and I took the measurements, we're having a cast made, but he could have done much worse if he had cared to." When Cassandra said nothing, he continued. "He escaped on one of the bikes we had in for repairs."

Cassandra looked down, bit her lip and fought tears. "I let him go."

"Tim and Stephanie have already heard plenty from me about the state they left that bunker of theirs in, but I need an answer from you. Why did you go in to face him?"

"He was fight, kicking, crying… Felt sorry. Thought he was like me. Raised like me."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "I understand why you did it, but you let your compassion get the better of you."

"I know."

"You're going to need some time for that to heal."

"I know."

"The police found the bike crashed, but they didn't see any sign of a driver. I don't know if Lipov prepared him for this, but he's surely looking for a way back."

"Dad," Cassandra spoke with an emphasis caught between sadness and anger, "I know."

Bruce was quiet for a minute. Both of them exchanged looks with one another, the window and elsewhere. Cassandra observed it was a quarter after four PM.

Bruce resumed with, "We still have Tim's scans, we're studying everything we can, but is there anything you can tell me?"

"He is afraid. I saw in his body, in his face. Very afraid." As she spoke, the last image of the Odmience looking down on her returned to the front of her mind. "Or I thought so."

Bruce nodded. "Anything else?"

Cassandra pulled up her comforter and clutched it tight. "Sadie left me."

Bruce sighed. "I'm sorry." He struggled with his expression for a moment and waited just long enough it was clear he had to make a decision about his next question. "Do you need to talk about it?"

Cassandra shook her head. "Not now."

"We have plenty of other things that we need to address. Needless to say that's going to take some time to heal, you'll be out of the uniform for a few weeks at least."

Cassandra dug her head deeper into the pillow. "Fine."

"I have some other work to do. I'll have Alfred bring you something to eat, if you're hungry."

"Thank you."

"Focus on your recovery." Bruce stepped close enough to pat her on the back once. "I have a lot on my mind, I'm sure you do too. But I'm glad you're safe."

Cassandra's smile was the most pathetic but most genuine she could manage. "You too."

Bruce stepped out of the room and left her alone in bed. For a few minutes, Cassandra stared at the ceiling, too beaten to think on anything else. All she knew, in that moment, was she was too rested to fall back asleep, and she was waiting for food anyway. With a little fumbling she got ahold of the remote control for her radio. The batteries may have been dying or something of the sort, because it took a few tries to even switch it on.

"Phil, I could go on and on about this one, we've become a society that's so terrified of pain we fail to realize that suffering is a gift from God."

Cassandra felt around on the remote. She was suffering quite enough without Cameron Gram's commentary on the matter.

"If you think you can break man's law and not face some kind of consequence, you're just wrong. And if you think that you can defy God's law and not face God's consequences, you're even more wrong."

"You think God inflicts suffering on us to teach us things?" His cohost asked.

"I don't think God likes to punish us, but yes. I think that's the only way we learn. And apparently there are people who, no matter how many times they touch the stove, won't believe it's hot."

In spite of mashing at the buttons on her remote, Cassandra couldn't change the station. Her radio could be annoying like that, sometimes the remote only worked from just the right angle.

"Phil, I get plenty of callers asking me where all this came from. Kids weren't attacking schools, they weren't engaging in dangerous practices and they weren't hurting themselves when we were growing up. But today's parents are raising the most socialist and godless generation in American history."

Cassandra pulled her pillow over her head in an attempt to blot him out.

"You look to what they're learning about. That God is no longer necessary to the creation of the universe. That pornography and masturbation are normal and healthy. That homosexuals aren't hurting family fundamentals to their very core. Our children are suffering the way they are because God is trying desperately to put them back on the right path. We've become too afraid to punish what's gone wrong, but our lord isn't afraid of anything."

Cassandra gave up on fighting her pillow and clutched herself tight as she sobbed into her mattress.

"But the great thing about God, the great thing about our lord Jesus, is that he heals the sick. He is here to support and aid the suffering. Maybe if the young people of America could just look past their social media and this notion that they have all the answers for a few minutes, they could realize what pain they're in and just ask for some help. One of Christ's greatest gifts is his forgiveness. Maybe not right away, but God can heal what we hurt. The first thing we have to do is acknowledge that problem and just ask for that help."

The rest of Gram's words seemed to fade away as Cassandra choked and cried. She thought she'd found love, but it was ripped from her hands for following her faith. She went to save her father and didn't even know what had become of him. She had shown an opponent mercy, empathy even, and he could have killed her for it.

"We've stopped shaping ourselves to fit God's plan and started bending God to suit our plans. That's acting in a way we all, as baptized Christians, know is wrong. That's heresy."

 _Please God… I don't want to hurt anymore._


	23. The Odmience- Issue 1

The darkness of sleep was devoured by the first blast of light and the sound of shuffling about. The young one in the bed fought the light with a raised hand, but could not ignore the commands to rise. The injuries still hadn't healed all the way, but he had grown anxious in the last week.

"Vstavay. Perestat' tratit' vremya."

Russian. Lipov was warning him.

The Odmience rose from his bed and clutched his bandaged ribs. His broken arm had recovered, though some pain seemed to linger no matter how long had passed. Stiffness, more than anything else. Every day since his recovery began the sounds overhead tormented him. They were faint, but different hums and rattles still penetrated the deep underground he and Lipov always returned to.

As the Odmience pushed off his bed, Lipov nearly forced his uniform into his hands. He hadn't worn it since the night the girl had captured him. Despite his recovery time, even touching it again made him uneasy. Lipov wore a blue pullover and had a matching hat sitting on a table near his laptop. The makeup he'd applied before waking the Odmience left him a little paler than his natural tone.

"Ladit's ney." Lipov was growing more aggressive. "U nas segodnya napryazhennyy den'."

The Odmience, completely naked save for his bandages, stepped into the uniform of pure black and slowly worked the suit up his body. Lipov stood with his glare like fire until he hesitated a moment with the uniform up to his neck. When he did so, Lipov closed the distance, grabbed the neck of the costume and pulled him close enough that the Odmience could smell his breath, which somehow stank of sweat.

"Nie zawiedz mnie ponownie."

Polish. Lipov was not to be trifled with then. The hood was over the Odmience's face as fast as he could pull it.

Lipov's glare softened, he raised a hand and strokes the side of the Odmience's face. "Good boy." He took the zipper on the back of his mask and slipped it shut. "Good boy." Lipov pulled back his hand and slapped the Odmience across one cheek. The apprentice didn't react, Lipov motioned and led him toward the exit.

Everything still ached. His cheek, chest, arm and especially his head. The Odmience wasn't sure he had recovered enough to go anywhere, but he was in no position to fail Lipov again.

Beyond all else, the word _Rafal_ still echoed through his skull. It seemed like a lifetime since he had heard it, but every memory still made him sick.

The Odmience couldn't remember a moment of his life before Lipov, if there had been one at all. In spite of any efforts at imitation, he could never emulate any sounds from the mouths of anyone he encountered. And for the first ten years, he had only ever been, "Odmience." Only for a few short months, years ago, had he ever known anything else.

It began before dawn in Boleslawiec. The two had traveled through much of Europe over the years, but Poland always seemed to take a lot of Lipov's attention. It had been three months since their arrival and they were leaving again within a few hours.

Lipov sipped wine in the kitchen of Danshov Georgiy, a high-ranking Bratva member who laid dead with a snapped neck in his den. Odmience stood by the fireplace, gasped for breath and vomited.

"Time was good. Your constitution's still pathetic." Lipov downed the last of the wine in Georgiv's glass. "You're going to keep at it until you get it right. If you have to kill Cain on his deathbed in thirty years, so be it."

If there had been anything left in the Odmience's stomach, he'd have vomited again. Georgiv was his fourth kill, and the first time he'd killed more than one man in a year. He never imagined the act could disturb him so. One of his earliest memories was Lipov pulling a knife across a man's throat. The way the man, a blonde with a ponytail, hit the ground, blood staining his white shirt, body overwhelmed with convulsions, slowly stopped moving was forever burned into the Odmience's mind. But somehow, witnessing a kill was nothing compared to being forced to do it himself. The way their bodies stopped moving, the way everything just stopped, the Odmience didn't even understand it, but every act tormented him.

Lipov crossed the den to a pack he'd tossed aside when they'd arrived. "Get changed. We have a train to catch." He pulled a small package out of it and threw it to his apprentice.

The Odmience took only a few more seconds to breathe, but Lipov was never patient with him.

"Sdelay eto." Lipov

The time for recuperation was over. The Odmience unzipped, peeled off his costume and slipped on the clothes Lipov provided: a pair of pants and a turtleneck that kept the scar around his throat covered.

Lipov opened the packet: a box of makeup. "Hand."

The Odmience put out his hand. Lipov rubbed off some of the foundation and adjusted the coloring a bit before he went to work smearing it over the scars that covered the Odmience's face. Within minutes of the kill, the two could pass as an innocent father and son just passing through the city.

The two had passed through Boleslawiec many times, the Odmience had learned the paths in and out of the city by train years before. Lipov had said they were heading for Dresden, which meant a stop in Zgorzelec, with a cross over the Bobr river viaduct partway through. The Odmience had observed the way time and again. A tiny plan had come to mind with each journey, but he always snuffed it out for fear of its failure. After that night, however, the idea was at the forefront of his mind.

As if to compensate for the Odmience's still-fractured body, Lipov lifted a lot of the night's weight. Lipov had been making phone calls and researching Gotham's inner-workings on a computer in the corner of the hideout for as long as the apprentice had regained consciousness. Lipov's plan involved a truck, the Odmience would ride in the back of it while they went wherever they were going. The Odmience could almost always understand what was being asked or commanded of him, but Lipov limited his communication largely to commands. Even if the Odmience heard something not intended for him, he didn't usually understand well enough to comprehend what he overheard. The extent he understood was that he'd failed and probably attracted some unwanted attention from his target's allies. Lipov felt it was time to seek some assistance.

"I didn't care about the girl before," Lipov said. "She was just a tool for punishing the son of a bitch. But she nearly killed you." Lipov laid a hand on the Odmience's shoulder as they approached the exit. "She'll pay for that. I'm sure you can't wait to repay Cain's spawn for what she did to you."

The Odmience dared not push the hand away. Though he couldn't grip the full meaning of Lipov's words, he couldn't shake the feeling of contradiction.

As the Odmience and Lipov boarded the train for Zgorzelec, the younger poured over his thoughts hundreds of times. The Odmience had no understanding of distance, Lipov never permitted him more than a few feet from his sight. All of the Odmience's attempts to run ended in failure. He was not confident in his plan, but the thought of being forced to kill again made his gorge rise. The boy didn't know how many times Lipov planned to put him through it, or when they would finally face the "David Cain" Lipov always raved about.

Throughout the train ride the Odmience kept his eyes on the window. Lipov always sprung for emergency exit rows for the extra legroom. Lipov sat in the spot closer to the window, as if he anticipated the Odmience's plan. The master sat back with his eyes closed, though his student knew better than to ever believe he'd fall asleep. Lipov looked as if he was daring the Odmience to try something just so he could punish him for it. Still, the boy's eyes remained on the window. It wouldn't even be two hours to Zgorzelec, but it felt like days before they reached the bridge he waited for.

The Boleslawiec Rail Viaduct was one of the longest rail bridges in Europe. It stood over twenty-six meters above the river and ran for four-hundred ninety meters. To use it as a means for escape was beyond dangerous. But then, so was every additional moment spent with Lipov.

Boleslawiec remained on either side of them. A small forest of trees and the train was all that kept the Odmience from returning. As the bridge entered his periphery, the boy took a last swallow and stared at the window. They were only seconds from the viaduct and it would only be a few more before the train made it to the other side. If Lipov was feeling ambitious, he could jump off and follow him back into town.

The last seconds came. It was then or never. The boy lunged for the escape lever. His fingers gripped the handle, he began to pull back.

Without opening his eyes, Lipov grabbed the Odmience's outstretched arm. The look he flashed was like a dog barring his teeth.

"Syad'te."

The Odmience thrust himself toward the window as he forced it open. Already other riders on the train were turning toward he and Lipov. The master pulled him back and pushed his small body against the seat in front of them.

"Syad. Te."

The Odmience pushed and kicked. From the corner of his eye he could see the bridge fast approaching. He only had a few inches to go. All he had to do was reach the window, tuck and roll. Escape was so close—

"Usiądź!"

Lipov's Polish only made his reactions more extreme. Usually they forced him into an uncomfortable still, but not that day. The chance, maybe the last chance, would slip through the Odmience's hands in a few seconds. The student gripped one of Lipov's hands and bit the side with all his strength. Lipov shouted. The boy's mouth filled with blood. The bridge was just outside the window. The Odmience jumped.

His perfect tuck and roll could only do so much when the child's body flew out of the train running over thirty miles per hour. His entire body was overwhelmed as he scrapped down the hill against the grass and toward the trees surrounding Boleslawiec. The turtleneck had helped mitigate a little more of the damage, but cuts and bruises were already forming all over his body. It took a few seconds for the Odmience to even register everything that he had done. When he pushed up, a chipped bit of tooth slid out of his mouth and stars shined before his eyes. It was a minute before he remembered his purpose as the train approached the opposite side of the bridge.

When the thought of Lipov jumping out of the train struck the Odmience, he forced himself up from the grass. He had somehow survived phase one of his plan. Now he had to retreat into Boleslawiec.

The Odmience rode in the back of a large truck, surrounded by bags of flour and boxes full of cans and bottles of other foodstuffs. He couldn't see it, but he was sure Lipov was constantly looking at him in his rearview mirror to confirm he hadn't tried to run off. It had been years since he'd made any attempt, but Lipov never trusted him. The truck was silent apart from an occasional shift in the containers when Lipov drove over a bump. It was so for over an hour.

Lipov only broke the silence to mumble, "Get down," when they reached their destination. The truck went silent again save for the truck's creek to a halt. "Evening officer."

"ID?" The voice was that of an older, rugged man.

The Odmience couldn't see Lipov well, but he could make out the pass of a card. The man on the opposite side of the truck mumbled something the boy couldn't hear and said, "Go ahead."

After a few more minutes of nothing but car sounds, Lipov parked. At the Odmience's feet was a gigantic, empty burlap sack. With a nod from his leader, the Odmience sat atop the open sack and clutched his knees to his chest. When Lipov came around to collect the rest of the food. In his already-warm costume, the heat was overwhelming, the boy hoped he wouldn't be waiting long.

The doors in the back of the truck were opened. Lipov made some undiscernible small-talk with someone else at the back as objects were loaded onto a cart. Eventually, the Odmience's bag was lifted and loaded on with the rest. With a tiny squeaking noise, they were closing in on their destination.

"Stay pretty quiet around here?" Lipov could adapt to a number of dialects surprisingly well when he cared to.

"We don't get the real weirdos, they're up at Blackgate," the other man said. "This place is pretty much the most normal part of the city, I've always thought. The girls here have made some bad decisions, but they've still got their wits. Least that's what I think."

A little more silence between them followed. Doors creaked open, the wheels on the cart slid against the floor.

"Sorry about this, but I've been holding it since we left town. Is there a bathroom on the way to the kitchen?"

"Sure, sure. Down this hallway here."

The cart turned, the Odmience turned with it.

"Protocal says I need to accompany you in. Sorry about that."

"Rules are rules," Lipov said. "Lead the way."

The Odmience sank deeper into this hold. He knew what was coming. He closed his eyes and braced for the worst.

A door slid open, the cart rolled over a small threshold.

"You uh… You need to bring the cart in here?" The other man asked.

There came a _shink_ and a slash. The Odmience heard the gasp loud and clear, but was sure it didn't make it past the door. There was a _slam_ as his body hit the ground. The Odmience sat up enough to confirm what had taken place and saw Lipov as he was at work stripping the body before the blood was cold, shifting his character from delivery driver to women's jail guard. The boy retreated back into the burlap bag, Lipov stuffed his delivery suit in with him and the cart began to roll again.

Within a few minutes the acoustics suggested the two had moved into a much larger room. It was mostly quiet, though some voices the Odmience couldn't understand echoed somewhere in the distance. With nothing but those far-off sounds and the rolling noises of the cart, the Odmience settled for a while. But then he heard the light _tap tap tap_ of some material against iron.

"Jillian Miranda Fanning? Inmate A-141?"

"Hm? Wha… what?"

"Warden's called for you. Come with me please."

"Ha! Bitch you're in so much trouble!"

"I didn't do anything, I swear I—"

Then came the sound of the iron cell rolling open. "Now, Miss Fanning." Lipov said.

With more mocking from the girl's cellmate, the Odmience sensed her approach as Lipov slid the door shut and locked it again. Lipov turned the cart around and began back the way he had come.

"What the hell is this about?" The girl asked. "I told you—"

"Did you enjoy your little stint in that power armor, Miss Fanning?"

"I… what?"

"I read all about it. You and your friends were overwhelmed by the Batgirl. She snuffed out your fun rather quickly, didn't she?"

"What are you getting at, creepshow?"

"Do you want to pay the Batgirl back for how she humiliated you?"

"Of course I do. But what does—"

"I'm putting together a little team, Miranda." Lipov said. "We saw your antics, and I believe your skills could become something incredible with a little more direction. Do you like the sound of that?"

"… I mean… they confiscated my suit. I'm already serving a jail term right now, trial's not for months? What are you gonna do, break us all out? Richie's still in the hospital—"

"All in good time," Lipov said. "That little team of yours, what name were you using again?"

"… The Reapers."

"I like it. I like it a lot."

"So where are we going now then? I still don't even know who you're supposed to be. If they catch me they're going to make it even worse—"

"I wouldn't worry about that now," Lipov said. "You can tell them you were just my captive. Your friend with the sonic gauntlets, where did she end up getting placed?"

"Tracey? I think she's in Cellblock G."

"Perfect. Let's pay her a visit."

Early one morning in mid-May, a single nun made her way to Saint Raphael's Church along the western edge of Boleslawiec. There had been talk of someone potentially vandalizing the old church, and the sisters took turns helping to clean up the mess after Father Nils confirmed there was no perpetrator to be found. That morning the task fell with Sister Mary Katya. Sister Katya was a tall, round woman in her early forties, and she always enjoyed the short walk to the church to contemplate and pray.

When she arrived at Saint Raphael's, there was a note waiting for her near the baptismal font. Simple statements and instructions from Father Nils that he had a quick errand to run and there were, again, random pieces of litter scattered in the downstairs kitchen, stolen from the church's charitable stock.

"Bless whatever soul has to steal like this." Sister Katya shook her head and descended the stairs. When she had made it halfway down, she froze, as if she had just heard something. After a few seconds she continued downward, listening carefully. There was something there, light like a scurry.

"Father Nils?" She called down as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Is that you?"

There was another quick shuffle and then it was completely silent. Sister Katya noted the broom and dustpan leaned against the wall. She at first grabbed the broom and held it as if it was a weapon, but quickly dropped her guard and muttered, "Father, forgive me." She cleared her throat and called out, "Are you the thief?"

Nothing came from the kitchen. The nun approached it with caution.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said. "I'm not even going to stop you. I only want to help you."

Still no new noises came. Sister Katya passed into the dim room and flicked on the light. There came a very faint crinkle from the pantry in the corner.

"I don't want you to go without," Sister Katya said. "I don't want you to be afraid. I'm only here to help."

She approached the pantry and hesitated a moment before touching the handle of the door. She didn't know if the figure within would be aggressive, if they would strike when she revealed him. But with a small prayer for strength and comfort, Sister Katya opened the door.

The tiny body within collapsed before she could even see his face. Without so much as a choke or a gasp, the boy clutched Sister Katya's shoes and sobbed.

Sister Katya didn't know how to react. The boy's cries overwhelmed the prayer-fueled thinking when she opened the door. He stank of sweat and urine, his clothes were caked in mud and grass stains. When Sister Katya knelt and held up his face, she was taken aback for a second at the scars and scratches that ran all over him. As soon as she removed her hand, the boy began to sob again. Sister Katya did not know what to make of him, did not know where he came from or why he was there. All she knew was the lord must have guided him out from a horrific place. Going with nothing but feeling, the nun set a hand on his back.

"It's all right, son. You're safe now."


	24. The Odmience- Issue 2

[[I'm trying so hard to keep writing. This, the stuff I dream of publishing, all of it. But her just walking out on me has made everything feel impossible. It's hard to keep caring about anything when you're suddenly without the person you cared about most.]]

Sister Katya brought the sobbing child out from the basement to Father Nil's office. The priest returned only twenty minutes later and was taken aback, first by the smell and then by the sight that awaited him.

"Sister Katya, what have you brought me here? Is that boy the thief?" The priest stepped past the two to his desk. With every attempt to examine the child he shuddered.

"He is, but I don't think he meant us any harm. Look at him, Father, he's in terrible condition."

"Well, I should say so. But why did he come here? He doesn't look like he's from the congregation. Why did you come here?"

The boy said nothing, he only pointed first to his lips and then laid a finger on the scar that ran across throat.

"He hasn't said a word. He coughs and chokes when he's crying, but no real words," Sister Katya said. "He keeps pointing at that mark. I don't think he's able to speak at all."

The priest looked over the child: the scars all over his face and neck, the green that looked to have been beaten into one of his cheeks as if on impact. Father Nils crossed himself before he spoke again. "Have you contacted the authorities?"

"I wanted to consult with you," Sister Katya said. "I don't know where he came from, but what if it was his parents who gave him all those marks? Will the police try to find them? If he ran away, he clearly had a very good reason."

Father Nils nodded as she spoke. "Your heart was in the right place, but the police will not turn a child back over to his abusers. Hopefully they will be able to locate another relative he can go to." He picked up the phone on his desk. "I'll contact them, we can speak with someone together."

Another hour passed before Father Nils rose and stepped out of the office to greet Officer Zurowski with the Department of Child Services. The priest's little office was growing crowded, so he motioned for Sister Katya and the boy to follow him out. The child only rose with the nun's motioning and kept within a few steps of her as the four made their way inward and sat in the church pews. When Sister Katya blessed herself at the font, the boy sloppily did exactly likewise, which made Sister Katya giggle a bit in spite of herself.

Officer Zurowski pulled a pen and paper from his dress shirt. "You said he's been stealing food from your stores?"

"Someone has been for the last week. We don't know if it was all him, but it probably was," Father Nils said.

"When did you discover him?"

"I found him there this morning," Sister Katya said.

"Any idea why he came here?"

"He didn't look familiar to us," Sister Katya said. "Maybe he's been to another church before and knew there are sometimes food stores."

"Mm." Zurowski nodded and turned his attention toward the boy. "On the phone you indicated he either is not or cannot speak. Is that correct?"

Once again, the boy pointed, first to his lips and then the white-hot line across his throat. Again, Zurowski nodded and noted. Afterwards, he tore a piece of paper out from his pad.

"What about writing? Do you know if he can write?"

"We didn't test that," Father Nils said.

Zurowski directed the piece of paper and the pen toward the child, but the boy looked at him blankly. Only when Sister Katya set an hand on his back and said, "Oh ahead. It's all right. Take them," did he accept the objects. Still, he held them and looked back and worth between the adults in confusion.

"I just want to know if you can write," Zurowski said. "Do you know how to write?"

After a little hesitation, the boy shook his head.

"Do you at least have a name? Do you know how to write a name? Or maybe just form one with your lips if you can't write or talk?"

Again the boy looked between the three, longest at Sister Katya, before he even attempted a response. He did know his title, but had never attempted to imitate the action of speaking it. To the best of his ability, he mouthed the phrase.

Zurowski raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, could you try that again?" The boy cooperated, Zurowski's frown deepened. "One more time?" The child did the motion again. Zurowski shook his head. "I don't know what he's trying to say, but it's no name I've ever heard."

"What will happen to him?" Sister Katya asked.

"There's only so much we can do if he literally can't give us any information," Zurowski said. "I want to ask some more question and match his appearance and prints with some other runaway reports. But assuming we can't get some more details, he'll need somewhere he can be fed and cared for for a while."

"The church sponsors a home for lost children just a few blocks from here," Sister Katya said. "Would it be acceptable for him to stay there?"

"There's some paperwork that will need to be completed before we can make anything even temporary official, but it's fine by me." Zurowski said.

Father Nils eyes Sister Katya as she spoke before he looked between her and the boy. "You seem like you've already taken quite an interest in him."

"I only want to see him well, Father," Sister Katya said.

The sickly boy looked at the three again and again, but his eyes always stayed most secured on the nun.

On the fourth floor of Gotham General Hospital was a wing designated for those injured while suspected of criminal activity and the uninsured brought in with emergencies. A young police officer sat at the desk usually designated for a receptionist. Despite Gotham's usual chaos, the hospital wing usually kept quiet. There was yet another section of the hospital for criminals with a decorated history and always had several more cops on duty. The uninsured remained on the west side, the lesser criminals laid cuffed to their beds on the east. Every window on the east side was surrounded by intersecting iron bars to prevent escapes and suicides.

In room 408 laid a gangly young man of 19. His stint with the other Reapers had cost him his full-ride scholarship, his father was footing most of the medical expenses but hadn't said a word to him since and he'd probably be carted off to prison as soon as his lower body healed. Richie Plier at least got used to the misery as the weeks passed. The memory of being thrown out of the apartment building was worse than anything else.

Richie had just considered nodding off into sleep for the night when he heard the _ting ting ting_ on his window. He looked toward it but couldn't really make out anything making the noise. It took him a minute to even realize something was obstructing his vision. A black shape had come between him and the city outside.

The room was overtaken by the screech of shattered glass. A black leather fist punched through the window. Richie Plier screamed. The officer ran in from the hallway with a hand toward his gun.

"What the hell was that? The officer looked back and forth between Richie and the shattered window.

"Someone was trying to break in!" Richie sat up and stared at the barred window.

The guard stepped closer to assess the damage that had been done, knelt and examined the broken pieces of glass. "Hm, he's got an arm, that's for sure." He pulled the radio from his belt. "Officer Shay, it's Officer Matthews. We've got some kind of intrusion on the fourth floor, over."

"Shay here, do you understand the nature of the situation, over?"

"Someone would have had to scale the building or something." Matthews felt around his belt and found a key. "I'm getting a better look."

"Don't!" Richie's breaths were fast and heavy. He had no way of identifying the threat that had smashed the window, but everything seemed too familiar for comfort. "Don't touch that!"

"Settle down, Pliers." Officer Matthews unlocked the bars and slid them aside. Pistol in hand, he cranked open the window and stuck his head outside.

Richie was at a bad angle to view what followed, but he could still hear the _crack_ and the shout as the officer's body spasmed. An unseen force pulled Officer Matthews toward the outside. Richie screamed again and tried with all his power to get up, but the handcuff and his broken lower body kept it impossible. As if in one motion, the cop's body disappeared out the window, followed by less than a second of screaming.

For a few moments, everything stopped.

Then the body, like it was made of shadow, slipped through the window. Richie threw out his lungs and screamed again as he faced the opponent that had debilitated him.

The Odmience moved with intense purpose, but Richie's screams quieted slightly when he walked past the bed. But as soon as the young man realized he was only grabbing a chair to prop against the door to keep it shut, the calm was eradicated again. The Odmience turned to face him, Richie could do nothing but keep screaming. As the shadow closed in and grabbed ahold of his windpipe, he shut his eyes and prepared to disappear.

"Ugh, thank you! That was getting grating."

Richie didn't know what to make of the words and it took a few seconds before he opened his eyes. The Odmience, still with his hand on Richie's throat, held a video phone up to his face, an older man with a scarred face and blonde hair smirked back at him.

"Richard Pliers? Codename Figment? So nice to see you. I'm sure you and my student have already met."

Richie tried to respond, but all he could manage was gurgles thanks to the Odmience crushing his throat.

Lipov sighed. "Odmience, release his neck. And break it if he starts shrieking again."

If not for Lipov's threat, Richie would have done just that. As was, on the boarder of hyperventilating, Richie spoke. "What the hell do you want?!"

"We were just having some technical issues and needed to call for some support." Lipov pulled back the phone and revealed the two women by his side.

Richie double-took. "Jill? Tracey? What are you guys doing with these freaks? I thought I heard you were in jail."

"Scarface and his mute kid broke us out," Jillian said. "We just need a hand getting back in business."

"You bitches are out of your mind!" If Richie could move a single muscle in his lower body, he'd have scrambled off the bed minutes before. "He's the reason I'm like this! He threw me out a window! He—"

"Yeah yeah Richie, we already know," Tracey said. "You were kind of a warning shot for the rest of us."

"I don't want anything to do with this, you can tell this creep he can just throw me right out another window for all I care!"

"Don't go throwing away opportunities so easily," Lipov said. "Haven't you considered what would happen if you had that suit of yours back?"

"I told you, I don't—"

"Suppose you could start making duplicates again. Would they be able to get up and walk? Would you be able to move freely again?"

Richie held his tongue in the middle of his complaints. It was not something he had considered, but the thought seemed to both slow and accelerate his heartbeat.

"I… what?"

"Think of it as my apology," Lipov said. "I broke your body, but perhaps I can give it back to you."

Richie's body still shook as he looked back up at the Odmience. He could only barely make out anything he hadn't seen before. He stood completely still, the black suit seemed to somehow mask his breaths. All that was any more obvious in the light was the chilling blue of his eyes.

There was some exchange Richie couldn't understand before Lipov passed the phone off to Jill. "Listen, Richie, we're just trying to get the old armor back. The cops screwed up the tracking software. You said you had a backup protocol to track them, we just need to access it."

The young man swallowed hard as his mind raced. "I don't want back in on this. I nearly got killed last time."

Lipov stepped back into frame behind Jill. "There's nothing illegal about this you know."

"Helping you guys break into government storage space?! Yes! Yes that is very—"

"No one's going to punish you any worse for sharing this secret. Not when your life is on the line."

Richie was about to say something more, but the Odmience grabbed ahold of his throat again. Even the gentle squeeze nearly made him scream.

"It's very simple, Richard," Lipov said. "You tell us where to go, he won't break you again. You don't, and he will not be so gentle this time."

Richie tried to swallow again, but the Odmience's grip on his throat didn't let the saliva through. He'd decided he couldn't live that kind of life. He didn't want to keep fighting freaks in spandex, that maybe he could get off easy with the courts. That he didn't want to risk being killed again any time soon. The last concern swiftly became the most pressing.

He tried to choke out the words, and when the Odmience saw he couldn't his throat was released. After a hacking fit he said, "You guys on the computer then?"

"Yes," Tracey said.

"The tracking system backup is a in a folder marked, 'Tagged in the ear.'"

"Subtle." Jill rolled her eyes and there came a click of keys.

"Run the EXE," Richie said.

Two more clicks. "It needs a password."

In spite of all his fear, Richie couldn't keep the red from his cheeks and a groan. "I know. It's 5318008."

Jill slapped herself in the face, Tracey uttered a, "Ha!" Lipov raised an eyebrow.

There came a pounding on the room's door. "What the hell is going on in there?"

"Crap," Jill said. "Richie, do we need anything else?"

"No, it should get going as soon as it loads."

"We're breaking down this door if we have to!" It was an officer. Clearly an officer.

"Odmience, make some distance. We have what we need," Lipov said.

The figure in black glared at Richie a last time before he approached the still-open window. A police siren had just started to howl.

"Wait!" Richie shouted.

The Odmience, video screen still pulled up, turned back toward him. The beating on the door grew louder. The wood was beginning to splinter.

"Get me back my suit and get me the hell out of here!"

Sister Katya gave the rest of her day to caring for the boy. As she examined the mess he'd made of boxes and wrappers in the kitchen, it was apparent he had just been tearing open containers without much thought of their contents. At some point he'd eaten a beets straight from a jar and may have consumed some flour raw.

"I don't know when the last time you must've eaten anything warm must have been," Sister Katya said as she began to simmer a pot of water for soup. "But we'll make that right."

As the ingredients cooked she led the boy into a washroom and helped him clean himself from his hands to his elbows. "A good bath to wash away the dirt and silt. You'll need that too."

In time he was served a meal of soup, bread and dried fruit. The child was ravenous in his consumption and Sister Katya had to place a hand on his back and say, "Easy, son. You'll make yourself sick if you eat too fast."

The boy followed all of her instructions whenever they came. Though is smile seemed somehow uneasy, as if he had never shown it much, Sister Katya could sense he was grateful.

The nun led him for three blocks to a small store of discounted clothes. She was hesitant to dress him in them before wiping away all of the grime, but was sure he'd smell better if she disposed of the soiled clothes he was wearing. The section for children's clothes was a small space in one corner of the store and most everything was plain looking, only differentiated by color.

"Pick a few things, I will let you know if they are affordable," Sister Katya said.

The boy's eyes widened and he looked toward the clothes and back to the nun, as if he had no knowledge of what she was saying.

"Go ahead. I have final say, but you get to pick."

The boy stepped closer to the racks and very gently sifted through the clothes, as if he expected to be corrected at any moment. When Sister Katya did not stop him, he pulled a black shirt, resumed searching, pulled a second and then a third.

"You can pick something else, you know," Sister Katya said.

Again the thought looked as if it made the boy uneasy and he quickly shook his head. He went about finding pants in the same way and searched through the racks for black. It seemed a little troubling to Sister Katya, but she decided the important thing to do was let the boy make his own decisions.

After a mostly quiet journey the rest of the way to the orphanage, Sister Katya said, "We still don't even have anything to call you, do you?"

The boy looked up at her as he led him and, again, tried to mouth the only name he'd ever known.

"Could I help you pick something?"

The boy gave pause for a few seconds and nodded.

"Since you came to Saint Raphael's, I think he would be happy if you shared his name. Can we call you Rafal?"

As they kept walking, the boy lowered his head for a moment before he looked up again. The uncomfortable smile had returned and he nodded.

"That's a good name then," Sister Katya said. "Rafal you will be."


	25. The Odmience- Issue 3

{{I hope you can all forgive me for how uneven The Odmience chapters have turned out. As I hope is soon evident, I did put a lot of work into them, but I will admit the pacing is kind of weird in places and stuff like that. I'm itching to get back to Cassie, so I'm rolling it all to its conclusion with this one, very long chapter.

Life at home has only gotten worse. But time stops for no man.}}

"I'm getting old, Dick. I used to fight with the Joker and sabotage the KGBeast and take all of Azrael's aggressive crap." Tim stirred a cold cup of coffee with a straw and a gyrating pinky. "Tell Barbara she needs to come back to Gotham, I can't handle being the IT guy much longer." He was garbed in his uniform, save for gloves, cape and mask.

In front of Tim was one of his bunker's many large monitors, an oversized Dick Grayson sat in the center. To Tim's right sat a set of black and golden armor taken from the Reaper Melody. Wires and plugs extended out from anywhere in the suit one would fit. Tim and Stephanie had requested the suit for examination from the Gotham authorities and spent many nights along with various allies researching its inner-workings.

"Babs is busy with the Birds' newest recruits," the digital Dick said. "You're probably going to talk to her sooner than I do."

Dick had been the most useful of Tim's contacts, though that had more to do with Dick's own connections than anything else. Victor Stone and he had tirelessly combed over any schematics Tim sent them and at least a few details had become clear. The tech within the suits bore an uncanny resemblance to suits of armor utilized by H.I.V.E. How it got into the hands of a bunch of random college students was unclear, but Dick and Victor spoke at length about the lengths H.I.V.E. had gone to in the past for new recruits. A lot of the rest of the internal information was damaged or corrupted by outside influences. The Harmony suit and possibly the rest were outfitted with electrical nodes all throughout, whose sole purpose appeared to be to shock the wearer. Most disturbing of all, however, was a small chamber at the base of the costume's neck that housed a tiny syringe of poison. So far as the three were able to discern, nothing in the suit could trigger the syringe or the electrical nodes, as if they had been disabled.

"I need an intern," Tim said. "Maybe some kid flunking out of one of my classes or something.

"Don't start wishing too hard," Dick said. "Being an orphan is practically a prerequisite."

"That trend's been dying out for years," Tim said. "I wasn't when I got hired on. Barbara isn't, Cassie and Steph aren't, if Damian was this would all be very confusing—"

"You mentioned Cassandra," Dick said. "Is her leg doing any better?"

"Sounds like it," Tim said. "She still isn't really supposed to put any weight on it, but she'll be out of that boot before too much longer. I've gone to visit her a few times, seems like she's listening to that radio all day."

"Which station?"

"Which one do you think? The one with the ranting religious guy on it."

Dick frowned. "Do you think that's such a good idea? Some cheesy Christian rock would be one thing, but that—Tim?"

Between Dick's words, a cringe had slowly crossed Tim's face. "Do you hear that?"

Dick sat quietly for a moment before he twitched a little. "I think I do."

The noise was a high pitch squeal slowly building to a screech. Tim covered his ears and glared at the Harmony suit. "Something in the suit just turned on."

"Well turn it off!" Dick had to shout over his own covered ears.

Tim clicked off of the video call and tried to open the suit's decompile tool. In spite of repeated hits on the mouse, nothing happened. "I can't shut it off!"

"Then get the hell out of there!" Dick grit his teeth. "You saw the specs on that thing, high enough pitches can cause brain damage!"

"I gotta lock up the bunker first, Bruce nearly killed me after I let them in—"

"No, you have to move! You're no use to anyone dead!"

The computer monitor showed its first crack. A drop of blood dripped down Tim's nose. No matter how he clicked to open his safety protocols, the application would not open. As he struggled with himself, Tim forced himself out of the chair and ran for the elevator. Red Robin slapped a hand on the identification keypad before he pulled his gloves and mask back on and the ascent began.

When the elevator came to a stop inside the empty warehouse near Gotham University Bruce had bought years before, Red Robin breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The ring was fading from his ears, but he'd have to find a way to disable Harmony's armor externally before the bunker would be usable again. He sighed in frustration as he ran over the better solutions he could have utilized in his head. He could have just retreated to a side chamber or something, he knew from experience Harmony's sonic waves couldn't penetrate the surveillance room. There would be consequences to face later.

Red Robin took a step toward the elevator's exit when the darkness itself seemed to kick him in the gut and force him back against the wall. The hero gasped for a breath as he looked up. The black took the shape of a young man shorter than him and stepped into the shaft. He was face-to-face with a conscious Odmience for the first time.

"Not much use having a secret hide out if it's so easy to penetrate," the darkness behind the boy said.

Red Robin went to draw his staff, but concluded the car was too tight a space to try using it. The Odmience threw a punch, that one he could block. The exchanged blows as Lipov appeared out from the warehouse and stepped into the light of the elevator.

"You're the ones who triggered the suit!" Red Robin moved back and forth to dodge out the Odmience's strikes. "Why?"

"New recruits." Lipov leaned over and examined the elevator's setup. "Handprint, boy."

The Odmience caught one of Red Robin's punches and ripped off his glove. The hero planted another right between his eyes and the Odmience was slowed for a moment before he pressed Red Robin's hand against the identifying switch. The elevator began to descend.

Lipov leaned back against the wall as if to allow the two room to fight. Both warriors were technical, each strike was a direct response to a new opening. Any punch Red Robin scored against the Odmience seemed to shake him internally, but the strikes from the Odmience were swiftly more debilitating. Even when a hook rattled the small assassin, he responded by grabbing and twisting Red Robin's arm until he shouted in pain.

The elevator stopped and the horrific shriek slipped through its open door. Even Lipov shook a bit as he raised a small device and silenced the suit with a _click_.

"We'll need a way back out." Lipov stepped toward the giant, cracked monitor. Dick must have already departed. "Better take that hand as a souvenir."

The Odmience loosened his grip to draw his sword. Red Robin regained enough control to draw his staff and clash with the assassin.

"My sister saved your life." Red Robin spoke through grit teeth. "And you're still in on all this?"

"His life is his mission." Lipov lifted the suit of armor. "His life is extinguishing every bit of Cain left in this world."

Red Robin broke from the clash and took a swing at the Odmience's face, but the attack was deflected by his sword. Between strikes of the two metals, Lipov approached and Red Robin tried to strike him. The older man outmaneuvered two trikes before the Odmience cut into Red Robin's side. As he shouted with pain, Lipov forced him back into the elevator and pressed his hand against the panel.

With one hand still clutching the fresh, bloody wound, it was all Red Robin could manage to force himself to the other side of the elevator as the door closed and the two assassins vanished with the suit of armor. As Tim hobbled to one of the side-chambers for a first aid kit, he swore at himself for not pursuing them.

As he reached the room, a buzz vibrated from his belt. Tim clenched, dreaded the worst and answered his communicator.

"Nighwing just called," Batman said. "Is everything all right?"

"… No." Tim fought the pain just to continue. "We just had another break in." The admission hurt as bad as the cut.

[[[...]]]

It wasn't more than four days after Sister Katya had encountered the strange, mute child in the basement of Saint Raphael's that she was summoned to Saint Raphael's Home for Children. She came at the request of Sister Therese, an aging nun who served as Mother Superior. When she arrived, Katya was instructed to report to Therese's quarters, where the elder sister sat alongside a bloody, bruised child.

"Rafal?" As Sister Katya approached the child, he fought tears behind a black eye, leaned in, put his bloodied hands tight around her and sobbed. Sister Katya turned to the Mother Superior. "What happened?"

"It's the other children who should really answer." Sister Therese shook her head. "That isn't his own blood drying on his hands."

Sister Katya was confused for a moment before she looked down at the boy and back to Therese. "What do you mean?"

"You should sit, Katya," Sister Therese said. "I can tell you a lot. You have brought us a very aggressive young man."

Sister Katya sat down across from Therese, Rafal emulated her. "Aggressive? He has only ever seemed frightened."

"He does not play with the other children. At all," Sister Therese said. "The first day he was introduced to the others, a girl a head smaller than him kicked a football toward him and tried to get him to participate. When he didn't respond and she accidentally knocked the ball into his shin, he punched her hard enough to bloody her nose."

Sister Katya was aghast as she looked toward the boy. "Rafal, why would you—"

"We punished him by prohibiting him from going out with the rest, but matters have escalated. The girl's older brother approached him at dinner the next night. Admittedly he started the fight, but he was the one who would probably have a broken arm if we hadn't intervened. Even the other sisters have scratches and bruises to show for pulling him off."

Sister Katya began to tremble as the Mother Superior went on. The boy never stopped looking toward her, as if he expected some defense.

"We've tried keeping him in the small room for our most aggressive cases, but nothing seems to work. That's Sister Josephine's blood on his hands for when she tried to discipline him for not getting out of bed."

A hand was over Sister Katya's mouth as she shook her head and fought tears. "Therese, I'm so sorry—"

"I talked to Father Nils. He said that the boy seemed very attached to you." Sister Therese sighed. "Katya, I hate to pull you from your other duties and I'm sure this sounds rather frightening, but we wanted to know if you could help out. Just for a little while. Just to stabilize him."

Sister Katya almost wanted to refuse. The Mother Superior had painted a very bleak picture of the child she had led there. If he was so internally violent, could she know he wouldn't snap at her to?

But as she contemplated, Rafal leaned against her, still sniffling and tried desperately to regain his composure. Even as his hand touched her skin, some of the tension vanished from his body. Sister Katya looked to the boy, and his face she saw nothing but pain. In her heart, she could feel nothing but the desire to take it away.

"Whatever I can do."

[[[...]]]

The permanent foreclosure that followed the shutdown of the Gotham University bunker left Gotham's forces underprepared for the next week. Two nights after the theft of the Harmony armor, a government base eighteen miles to the northwest of Gotham reported a devastating attack. A young woman garbed in a uniform of black and gold had temporarily dispatched the base's guards with a series of destructive sonic blasts. An unidentified figure in a white electrician's van smashed through the base's fence and followed her in.

In both a series of garages and a central space were stored physical tons of weaponry confiscated from Gotham's criminal population. Some within the government and military argued a gigantic cache of such weaponry was a complete liability, but the cost of constant transport for all the contraband was deemed too overwhelming otherwise. Countless trick umbrellas, exploding chattering teeth and ice-based weaponry were disassembled in the underground beneath the central hub. Most of the confiscated weaponry wasn't anything more advanced than guns or bombs hidden within innocuous objects, but as new technologies sometimes cropped up in Gotham, everything was meticulously deconstructed. The research team within had only just scratched the surface of the four suits of Reaper armor when they were stolen back.

Batman and Robin were still at the government sight looking for evidence the next night when reports of a brief but destructive scrimmage at the Gotham jailhouse came in. Eight figures in identical silver, metallic suits ran through the facilities and dared any of the on-sight staff to come stop them. The noise and confusion overwhelmed the police and physicians for an hour. By the time the caped crusaders had arrived, all of the intruders had disappeared and two jail cells had been broken into. The news of a disappearance in the criminal and displaced wing of Gotham Hospital never even reached the two.

Even were gathered in the dark, noisy hideout Lipov had utilized since his arrival. The Reaper's previous place of business, though still unknown to Batman and the police, would surely be discovered in a short matter of time. That was Lipov's reasoning. His base of operations was small, but fulfilled what functions it had to. In the makeshift meeting room were a few sporadically placed chairs and a desk that Richie was seated at.

The aging assassin leaned against the wall in the center of their gathering place, the Odmience at his side as always. For the first time he could look upon his five new recruits in all their glory. He muttered their names under his breath as he was still getting used to them.

"Xane." The boy with the black suit that enabled extreme speed. Went by Slipstream. "Tracey." The girl in black and gold who produced soundwaves. Identified herself as Melody. "Richie." The one with the broken lower half whose silver, multiplying suit was his only chance at walking again. He'd been on his computer nearly since they'd broken him out of the hospital and pounding out new codes for the suits. Apparently, he was the one who kept the armor's original designers from catching up with them. Codename Figment. "Miles." The big one with the green power-suit who shouted too much. Answered to Jabberwocky. "Jill." The girl in the neon pink suit who could form and manipulate hard light. Strangely called herself Miranda, which was also her middle name.

Lipov pushed off of the wall and clapped his hands to call for their attention. The Reapers quickly stopped talking among themselves and looked to him. "I'm sure you're all very curious as to why I've freed you."

"I was the first one you sprung, and even I'm not sure," Jill said. As she moved to the opposite wall, the three who could still walk followed her. Richie only watched.

Lipov smirked. "My name is Victor Lipov, and I have brought you together for a rare opportunity. I have the power to erase those terrible mistakes you all have made from your records. I can make your sentences and debts to society all vanish. I just need something back from all of you."

"All right, creepshow," Miles said. "What'd you have in mind?"

"I have an old family dispute with an associate of the Batman," Lipov said. "Not even the Bat himself. Just the girl who calls herself Angel."

"So what, you want us to kill her next time we're out?" Xane tilted his head. "Five on one shouldn't be much—"

"No." Lipov scowled and his tone strengthened. "You are not to kill her. That privilege—" He placed a hand on the Odmience's shoulder. "Belongs to him."

"What then?" Miles said. "Drag her here so he can take her out? Loosen her up? Get to the point."

"I want to break her," Lipov said. "I want to see her shatter into a million pieces. I want her death to be a merciful release from the hell I make her life. But even my Odmience and I can't do it by ourselves. We have brought you here to bolster our forces and ensure that when the moment comes, it will be perfect." As Lipov paused, the five exchanged hesitant and confused looks, save for Miles, who just appeared to be annoyed. "And on top of your clean records, you can take your revenge on the Batgirl. Give me my prize, and I'll give you yours."

The looks across the Reapers turned to contemplative smiles and nods of approval. Still save for Miles, who looked more annoyed than before. "I think I see a major problem in your idea, old man."

"Oh?" Lipov raised an eyebrow. "Please enlighten me."

"We don't need you to kill the Batgirl. You're not wearing a suit of armor. And you can't tell me what to do!"

The bullheaded Miles ran toward Lipov. Jill, Tracey and Xane both shouted he was being an idiot. Richie just looked away. Lipov produced a small, black device from the pocket of his coat and pressed one of the switches.

The sound of surging electricity and Miles' scream of pain overtook the gathering space. The green giant fell to his knees as his body twitched and screamed swears to the ceiling.

"I'm very glad our Jabberwocky friend decided to test my limits," Lipov said. "And just what those suits are capable of."

"Richie!" Miles spoke through grinding teeth. "You said you disabled the shockers!"

Lipov stepped over to Richie and patted the computer he worked on. "He did. But at my request, he turned them back on."

As Miles fought the pain and regained his footing, Lipov pressed the switch and shocked him again. Once more the towering warrior hit the ground.

"You bastard!" Xane disappeared into a blur of black. "He didn't even do anything else!"

Lipov again hit the switch. Xane imitated Miles' screech and fell to his knees inches from Lipov and Richie.

"I think it's a lesson you should all learn now. Odmience."

The young assassin took his place at Lipov's side, raised a leg, kicked the still shaking Xane in the face and onto his back.

Richie still didn't look up. "I'm so sorry… you don't understand. I'd never be able to walk again if I didn't help him. He said—"

The Odmience grabbed the back of Richie's chair and threw it to the side. The young man shouted in pain as his crippled body collided with the ground. Jill and Tracey shouted, "Stop it!" and "That's enough!" It was all the defiance Lipov needed to turn the mechanism against all five of them at once.

From the chamber came a chorus of agony. All five shouted in pain, those still on their feet fell to their knees as volts of electricity tore against them. As they howled in pain, Lipov nodded in satisfaction and slowly dialed back the power.

"The five of you work for me now. If you serve me well, I'll give you everything you could possibly want. If you think you can run, you should pray the police apprehend you before I do. If you defy me, you will feel the volts designed to keep you in line." He held his thumb just over a button at the bottom of the mechanism. "If you fail me, the plungers full of toxin at the napes of your necks will flow into your bloodstreams."

"Richie!" Jill shouted. "You said you tore those out!"

"They're connected to the power cores." He was nearly on the verge of tears. "I tried to. I disabled them, I thought that'd be good enough!"

"You're going to help me enact my revenge. And I will do the same for you." Lipov pushed a last switch and killed the flow of electricity. All five gasped for breath and struggled to rise from the ground. "And, on that subject, I have selected your first assignment. There is one more person I need to speak to. You're going to help me into Arkham Asylum."

[[[...]]]

A month of Sister Katya's shifts assisting in the home for children showed uneven progress for Rafal. Sister Katya had never been very involved in the orphanage before, but the Mother Superior insisted her one greatest duty was to look over the boy she had brought them.

At the meals and activities Sister Katya supervised for, Rafal was totally docile. He never played with the other children and thanks to his reputation, none of them approached him. But he could occupy himself with sloppy crayon drawings or watching footballs as he rolled them back and forth against the wall or fences outside. Sometimes Sister Katya would sit on the pavement and roll the ball back and forth with in or bring him in an hour before dinnertime to help cut vegetables. There was still paranoia in every one of his movements, but it seemed to fade while she was around.

If Sister Katya did not come, the old habits resumed. When a child rarely came to close to him, he barred his teeth like a rabid animal. If the nuns tried to make him sleep or rise when he didn't want to, he scratched and bit them. Again and again Sister Katya returned to hear news that the frightened boy she brought to the home had disappeared and a small monster took his place. She cried over what they told her. And whenever she sobbed, Rafal did likewise, even if he couldn't understand why.

One day, Sister Katya had brought him back to the church where she had found him and Rafal was instructed to wait in the pews. She had to speak with Father Nils and would not be long.

The boy initially sat as he was told, but between the silence in the Saint Raphael's and the discomfort of the wooden benches, he became restless. He wanted to be with Katya again. After twenty minutes, he slowly approached the priest's office, silent as breeze thanks to his years of instruction. Soon, he could hear them, and judging by the ups and downs of her pitch, he knew Sister Katya was crying.

"I just don't know what to do, Father," she said. "I have prayed for him every day since we found him, I believe he can be shown the way. But he only responds to anything when I am there."

"I know, Katya, I know," Father Nils said. "We still don't know what to make of it. And if Officer Zurowski is to be believed—"

"What if that man is his father?" Sister Katya said. "What if he's the same one who put all those scars on his body? What if he is just going to hurt him again?"

Rafal's heart raced. He had no way to know for sure, but Lipov may have been catching up with him.

"The police didn't disclose any information, they're looking deeper into him and his history," Father Nils said. "The boy will be safe from him until the authorities deem he is nothing to fear."

Sister Katya paused to blow her nose. "It's times like these, Father… I wonder if I understood the Lord's plan for me."

Rafal leaned a little closer to the door and attempted to peek through the place door met frame. He still couldn't see anything. "I'm sure it is difficult, Katya. We've never seen anything like this—"

"What if I wasn't meant for this life?" Sister Katya gasped for fresh breath. "What if there is another way I could do his will?"

"Sister, please." Father Nil's voice was still calm, but a firmness followed. "You sacrificed for the Lord. It is a bold and noble calling, and you know what it entails."

"Do you ever regret it?"

"Katya—"

"The truth, Father. Please tell me."

The old priest breathed a heavy sigh. "… Sometimes. Sometimes when I unite newlyweds. Sometimes when I baptize the children. Sometimes just when I see the congregation… I wonder why I shouldn't have what they have." When he paused, Sister Katya's cries had settled, if only a little. "But that was the sacrifice we made. This is the life the Lord chose for us and we agreed it was for the best. It is not a sin to want these things, but we cannot break our vows to God."

As Sister Katya began to sob again, Rafal opened the door with a tiny _creek_. She and Father Nils turned to him in surprise. The nun tried to tend to her eyes. "Rafal? I told you to wait—"

The boy stepped up to the chair she sat in, leaned against her and joined her in commiseration.

[[[...]]]

The Reapers were swift in executing Lipov's orders the night that followed. Despite complaints of tiredness and still being fresh from jail, Lipov crushed any defiance with blasts from the armors' insides. He had to keep moving quickly. His final target had the potential to be the most difficult, but that was what made his five new allies so important. Harmony's waves overwhelmed the sound systems. Slipstream rushed in and put out the cameras. A small army of Figments distracted the guards on duty while Jabberwocky knocked them unconscious. Miranda pressed hard light into keyholes to mold makeshift keys. Lipov and the Odmience moved deep into Arkham's lower levels in search of one particular inmate in extreme isolation.

"Not to question the plan, boss, but what exactly are you planning once you see this guy?" Miranda hesitated over one of the final locks. "You've seen what he did. I don't think you two are going to get along at all. He doesn't seem—"

"Easy, girl," Lipov said. "I'm not recruiting him. I only want to know if he has anything useful to say.

The door swung open. Even through her helmet, Miranda's face showed doubts. "What cell do you want again?"

"DL80. Should be on the left."

Miranda proceeded ahead of Lipov and the Odmience, found the door and went to work at the lock. "I'm not going in there. I'm agnostic, I don't wanna know what that guy would do to me if I had the chance."

"I don't care where you wait," Lipov said. "Just open the door and be ready to put a wall between us and him if you have to."

It only took two minutes. The door swung open, Miranda stepped aside. Lipov and the Odmience stepped through.

Beyond the entry was a plain, white, sterile room. The only objects that interrupted the overwhelming pale were a bed, a sink, a toilet and the convicted man that sat in the corner. The Odmience double took when he saw him, he was a giant if the boy had ever seen one. His bare arms were covered in black tattoos and his bare, downward-bent head was rough and uneven with scars and burns. He was perhaps the first person the Odmience had seen whose marks could compare with his own. The giant raised his head after a few seconds of the two standing opposite him. His face looked much the same, save for whatever had hacked off the front of his nose.

His tone was frustrated above all else. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"Daniel Lebowitz then?" Lipov smiled. "Or do you still prefer your other name?"

The giant glared at him. "Lebowitz is fine."

"All right then. I want just the same thing you do."

Lebowitz lowered his head. "I want you to get out."

"I want to give you something much better," Lipov said. "A chance at vengeance."

The man opposite the assassins still did not look at them again, but his voice grew forceful. "See that none repay wrong for wrong. Strive always to do what is good for each other and everyone else. Thessalonians."

"What about eyes for eyes? Or teeth for teeth?"

"Babylonian. Man's law. Not God's."

The Odmience looked to Lipov, whose amiable smirk had faded. "I'm talking about killing the Angel."

"I know full and well what you're talking about. Get out."

Lipov took a step forward. The giant raised his head again and pushed to his feet. The Odmience wasn't sure of his exact height, but he towered over both of them. Lipov took back half of his step and cringed. "I read all about what she did to you—"

"That she kept more blood from staining my hands? That she kept me from being an even greater waste of life?" The giant clenched his fists. "Perhaps you also read they still haven't found a way to end my life. Did you honestly intend to threaten me if I didn't comply?"

Lipov scanned him up and down. "Tell me you don't want to kill her."

Lebowitz spoke without any emotion. "The fool who ran around calling himself the Seraphim wanted to kill her. That demon has been exorcised."

Lipov looked back and forth between Lebowitz and the Odmience. He had come confident that anyone Cain's daughter could have overcome, his creation could do even better. But with a good look at the giant, he decided it better to avoid confrontation if he wasn't going to initiate it.

Lipov set a hand on the Odmience's shoulder and pushed him toward the door. "Come, boy. Seems this was a waste of time." He had come with a backup plan, at least the night wouldn't be a total loss.

"You want my advice for facing the Angel of the Bat?" Lebowitz said. "Don't. Don't engage her. Don't make yourself her enemy. If my defeat proved anything, it is that she is the Lord's chosen warrior. You will never stop her."

Lipov turned only half his face toward Lebowitz and pushed the Odmience toward the door. "In 1974, when I was ten years old, my family were made political undesirables by Leonid Brezhnev. My father was a deacon in our town's church—it was a fifty kilometers beyond Yelets, but its name and existence have been redacted from Russia's history. My father and the priest were good, obedient members of the Orthodoxy. They disavowed the will of the communists and their work to cleanse Russia from God's influence. As the KGB began to infiltrate every level of society, my father, mother, sister and I were all taken hostage. Brezhnev was not like Stalin, he did not kill us. He only left us to die in his prison camps." Lipov turned away again. "My father's holiness did not preserve his life, and hers' will not be my downfall."

"Your father died a righteous man, from what you've described to me. When you die, you will burn."

"We'll see, now won't we?" Lipov stepped back into the hallway with the Odmience and Miranda. "Waste."

"Was that true what you told him?" Miranda's voice was uneasy. "About your family?"

Lipov glared at her. "What do you think?" Before Miranda could respond, he resumed. "Call Figment. Crack a few of these cells open. The Bat and his ilk could use a few more distractions."

[[[...]]]

A week passed in Saint Raphael's Home for Children after Sister Katya's conversation with Father Nils. Though Rafal's position there was still in question, the week passed largely without incident. Sister Katya remained near the boy whenever she could. The two set at a table in the common area one afternoon as the boy held a pencil in his shaky hand for the first time.

"Just like this now," Sister Katya said. Slowly in pen, she moved across the page and spelled out a single word. "Now you try."

Rafal examined her work like it was a puzzle he had to piece together with his eyes. The pencil didn't feel right, no matter how he gripped it. He couldn't imitate her strokes, so he tried to just emulate the image. Despite his trepidation, his first attempt was not ugly.

"Do you know what this is?" Sister Katya set a finger on the word.

The boy shook his head.

Sister Katya tapped the word and then the boy's sternum. "That is you."

He raised a finger toward himself.

"Yes. That is Rafal. That is you."

The boy looked down at the two copies of the word. Tears and a smile both overtook him as he pressed his pencil to the page and wrote it again. Sloppier that time, but still discernable as a copy. Then it wrote it again. And again. Sister Katya had never seen anyone so pleased with a name before, but she would do anything to see that satisfaction on his face. She told him to keep it, it was something he should be proud of.

At the end of that day, Rafal snuck a pair of scissors off one of the crafting tables while Sister Katya wasn't looking. In the moonlight that illuminated from his window, he pressed the sheet of paper against his arm and raised the scissors.

It was his name. It would always be his name.

Sister Katya was never far from those days on. Every day they practiced with the letters he could barely comprehend and she was there to tell him good night in the evenings. It was happiness.

"Excuse me, Sister Katya? Rafal?"

The two turned from their lesson one morning. The Mother Superior had come from behind them.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, but a man from the government is here. He says he needs to talk to the boy."

Sister Katya's eyes widened. "Officer Zurowsky?"

"No," Sister Therese said. "Said he was off duty today. He only requested the boy, but I know he relies on you to communicate."

Sister Katya folded the paper the two had worked on and rose. The boy followed after her. One room at the front of the home had been converted into a small office. Sister Therese opened the door and gestured the two inside. A dark-haired man with glasses, an unkempt beard and a suit jacket sat at a small table and jotted notes on a pad identical to Zurowsky's.

"Good afternoon," he said. "Officer Adamiak. Officer Zurowsky sends his apologies. We usually like the keep the same officers on the same cases, but something came up."

"It's all right," Sister Katya said.

As Rafal stepped in and examined the officer, something overtook him. A hesitation ran through his body. Something was off.

Officer Adamiak took a deep breath as he looked down at his notes, up at the boy and toward Sister Katya. "I'm going to be straight with you, ma'am. I'm here because the Department of State has misgivings about this child's continued presence in your care."

" _What_?" Sister Katya's response was as much a gasp as it was a word.

Rafal turned from the Officer to her for a moment to look at the shocked nun.

"I'm sorry to be delivering this news like this, Miss… Mary?" Adamiak looked down at his notes and back up at her. "Is it Mary?"

"I know he's been difficult, but we've been doing our best with him," Sister Katya said.

"I'm not here to point any fingers," Adamiak said. "I'm sure you've tried your very hardest. But Miss Mary, please look at the boy." Adamiak opened a hand and motioned at Rafal. "I've read all about him in Zurowsky's inspections. He's always getting into fights. He doesn't interact with the other children. There are other homes for cases like this, Mary. Other places designed to handle children like him."

Rafal leaned close to the nun and wrapped his arm tight around one of her arms. Tears welled in his eyes. He didn't understand everything, but he understood enough.

Was that all the reason Rafal had to hate the officer? That he knew he might take him away?

Sister Katya wiped the tears from her eyes. "You mean what you say, don't you? I heard they found his father—"

"Blonde man, three scars across his face." Adamiak scratched his beard. "He doesn't know where he is and we're keeping him far away." The officer reached forward and set one hand on top of Sister Katya's. Somehow, even it unsettled Rafal. "I'm sure you're upset. But we all just want to see him get the help he needs. As soon as possible."

"I just wish I'd known," Sister Katya said.

"Standard protocol, ma'am. Keeps people from trying to run off." He eyed her carefully. "Just a precaution of course. I'm sure we had nothing to fear here."

Sister Katya led Rafal up to his small, isolated room. The boy stood, teary eyed, in the doorway as she gathered his small assortment of black clothes together and stuffed them into a laundry sack. As she approached him, he grabbed ahold of her wrist and squeezed.

"I know Rafal." Sister Katya's voice was unstable. "I know you want to stay here with me. But they have another place for you." She knelt down and laid a hand on the boy's cheek. "They'll take good care of you there."

He pulled at her wrist.

"I can't go with you any further." Sister Katya pulled him in for a hug. For a moment, the two sobbed in silence. "I'm so sorry I couldn't have done more."

Rafal's body loosened, as if he had accepted what she told him.

Sister Katya set the laundry bag in his hand and led him down to the parking space outside the home. Adamiak stood by a black sedan, the backseat open to let the boy in. It was a windy day, his messy beard swayed a little.

As Sister Katya led him to the car, she looked at the officer. "He will be taken care of? He will receive the best care for the conditions he is suffering from?"

"I promise," Adamiak said. He looked down at Rafal. "Come on then, son."

Rafal looked up at the man, but did not move.

"It's time to go." Sister Katya attempted to pull her hand away, but he did not release it. "Rafal?"

"Something troubling you?" Adamiak asked. "Please, climb in."

Rafal's eye twitched involuntarily.

"Just do what he says," Sister Katya said. "He knows what's best."

"Yes." Adamiak lowered his face to look Rafal in the eyes. "I know what's best."

The boy didn't know what happened. He acted on instinct. With his free hand, he grabbed Adamiak's beard and yanked. The officer shouted as hairs tore from his face, fixed in place not by pours, but some kind of adhesive. From the yank, the ends of three scars were visible. Rafal's eyes widened.

"Goodness!" Sister Katya raised her hands over her mouth. "What's come over— My God, what are those?"

With his disguise undone, Lipov reached into his suit jacket. As Rafak attempted to strike him, Lipov reverse the attack and forced a damp cloth over his mouth. The boy fought and pushed against him, but the chloroform did its job swiftly. As Lipov thrust his body into the sedan, Rafal saw him pull something else from his jacket. All that was clear afterward was Sister Katya's scream.

For hours, Rafal returned to conscience in tiny bursts. He noted being moved from one car to another. He heard Lipov mutter under his breath. Once, he heard Sister Katya groan in pain. The rest was darkness.

"Up! Get up you worm!"

Rafal awoke as the back of his head hit pavement. Besides the shimmer of stars before his eyes, he had come from darkness into darkness.

A boot smashed against his head. The boy fell backwards, blood trickled down his nose, as Lipov stepped into view.

"You had to make it so hard on yourself," Lipov said. "You wouldn't be here if not for your disobedience!"  
Rafal pushed to his feet. Everything was still hazy, but Lipov was visible enough he could throw a punch. But even as he tried, the chloroform kept him uncoordinated and weakened. Lipov caught the punch and backhanded him.

"You want to fight me?!" Lipov shouted. "I created you!" Another backhand. "I made you what you are!" A punch in the boy's gut. "You can't fight me!" The _smash_ of metal against Rafal's head.

The boy looked up as blood oozed through his short hair. In Lipov's hand was a pistol pointed at him.

Rafal, if only for a short time, had tasted freedom from the madman. He would not be Lipov's slave again. Resigned to his fate, the boy raised his bloodied face and pressed his temple against the barrel. He shut his eyes, sniffled and waited.

Lipov was silenced for a moment before he lowered the gun. "Bold move, boy. But you're not allowed to die yet." He stepped away. Rafal opened his eyes slowly to see Lipov return to the car, pop the trunk and yank something out. Rafal considered running again, but knew his legs were too weak to carry him anywhere.

Lipov grabbed ahold of Rafal by his hair and yanked him toward the trunk. When they arrived, the boy nearly vomited. Sister Katya laid with her head inverted in the trunk of the car, her eyes glazed over and mouth wide open. Each breath was labored, even the movement of her chest seemed painful. Rafal fell to his knees as the bitter tears flowed anew.

"She doesn't even know where she is," Lipov said. "She can't sense anything anymore. Not until the drugs wear off. You did this to her."

Rafal turned and threw another punch. Lipov caught his fist but did not retaliate save for staring him in his wet eyes.

"You did this. You brought her all this pain. And now you're going to make it right."

Lipov forced the pistol into the boy's hands and pushed the weapon forward. As Rafal choked to even inhale, he shook his head.

"If you don't do it, I will." Lipov spoke softly. "I will not be quick. I will not be gentle. I know how to hurt her over and over again."

Rafal struggled to redirect the gun, but Lipov's grip on him was too strong. The elder assassin pointed the weapon at the nun's head.

"End her pain, boy," Lipov said. "Before I escalate it. Release her."

Rafal shook his head with all his strength.

"I said do it!"

His eyes were shut tight. The tears would not stop flowing. Lipov forced one of them open, and just beyond the saltwater, Rafal saw her draw an agonizing breath.

"Uwolnij ją!"

He pulled the trigger. Sister Katya disappeared in a spray of red and iron. He fell to his knees, but the tears stopped flowing. He couldn't feel anything anymore.

The boy was gone from his cradle. And a demon had put an odmience in his place.

[[[...]]]

"Authorities have confirmed the escape the criminals under the names Mad Hatter, Victor Zsasz and Poison Ivy from Arkham Asylum after a break in two nights ago. The safety of our city is, as always, in our prayers. Protect yourself, people of Gotham, not only from these people who would do you harm but the vices they surcame to. One of these three was a grown man obsessed with fantasy stories, another was a compulsive gambler before killing overtook him and the third is known not only for her mania in environmental terrorism, but as a wildly depraved lesbian alongside the Joker's associate Harley Quinn." Cameron Gram paused only a minute for breath. "My prayers go out to all of you in Gotham trying to stay on the straight and narrow, to all of you battling your own demons. We will overcome together."

At long last, Cassandra was out of bed and completely balanced again. The weeks of rehab and rest had finally healed her leg. She would be back on the streets soon enough.

But even beyond that healing, her soul felt refreshed as well. The chance to listen to Cameron Gram nearly every day had given her exactly what she needed.

The criminals of Gotham had made their choices, it was time they knew retribution. Lipov and the Odmience had made themselves her enemies, she would treat them in kind. The sadness of the day on the playground with that girl had been washed away. Pain and loss had been her punishment and her teacher.

Cassandra faced herself in the mirror and threw two kicks. Her strength and balance had returned and her daily prayers had put her back on the right path.

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done.


	26. Chapter 23

{{So I've been pretty gloom and defeat on the few times I have posted as of late. Life hasn't gotten much better and the story isn't exactly reflecting a cheerful shift (this isn't a recent development, my personal life has never altered any of my plans for this story.) But on the matter of some good news: I've actually just finished my first publisher-ready fantasy novel, 320 pages, 80,000+ words. So, you know, something with my own characters, my own symbols and ideas and it's extremely exciting! I'm sure I'm still a long way from having a product to sell, as I now have to deal with publishers and stuff, but it's coming along beautifully. More on that if I get more good news on the matter.}}

With the cast off and rehabilitation complete, Cassandra only had one thing left to do before she took to the streets again. It was early November, the air had just become brisk and she traveled to Saint Michael's by bus. It was a Thursday afternoon, reconciliation would begin at four.

Cassandra had not said much to her friends and family about her experiences alone with the radio day and night. She quieted it any time Alfred came with food or Bruce checked her reflexes. Get well letters from Barbara and Dick arrived. In the first week, Stephanie examined the cast for the perfect spot to sign and said, "Hey, did Sadie sign this thing yet? I kinda figured she'd be the first."

"… I didn't tell her. Yet," Cassandra said.

From the beginning it seemed Stephanie knew something more was off, but she didn't interrogate. Most of her and Tim's visits were often frustrated venting about how much Bruce had hounded them about the use of their bunker. When Tim eventually admitted the thing was being impounded and had to be destroyed due to a break in, it was hardly a surprise.

Cassandra's body felt heavy as she stepped off the bus two blocks from the cathedral. The time had come, she knew, to put the past behind her. The defeats weeks before had put her on the road to revival, the day had come for reconciliation. Her mind lingered on all the sermon she'd heard from Cameron Gram and the lessons he had left her with.

The cathedral was warm and comfortable as ever, even with memories of the past Christmas Eve. Cassandra consecrated herself at the central font and slipped into the nave. She arrived early, so there was only one other parishioner outside the confessionary she always knew Monsignor Ryan took. There were at least two other priests in the other booths, but it was the monsignor Cassandra wanted to talk to. She knelt and prayed next to the young man who sat next to her and her sins swiftly rose to the surface.

 _Forgive me_ she said silently. _Know what I did. Know I was wrong. Please, make me right again_.

The door of the confessionary creaked open, the young man next to her departed. Cassandra looked up toward the massive, stained glass image of Christ upon the cross toward the back of the cathedral. It almost broke the tension a little to remember the time she'd been forced to break it. As if she could hear Gram's stern voice criticize her in the back of her mind, Cassandra stopped quickly and remembered the purpose in the image. God gave his only son to suffer at the hands of man to give them redemption. Compared to that, Cassandra's burden was easy, and the very least she could do.

Two more members of the congregation sat further down the pew. The man before her only took a few minutes, and soon sat in the row in front of her to do his penance. Cassandra's heart sped a little as she looked to the open door, but she kept stable, stood and stepped through. Inside the confessionary, she pulled back the curtain as she always did.

Father Ryan beamed. "Goodness, hello there Cassandra! I see you're walking again."

"Thank you for sending the hosts with Tim," Cassandra said.

"Of course, it was good to see him so much. I'd have brought Snowball to say hello, but I've been needed here a lot these last few weeks." Father Ryan contained a small laugh for a few seconds before he looked back to Cassandra. "Well then, let us pray."

The two spoke together, Cassandra a word or two behind Ryan. "In the name of the father and the son and the holy spirit. My last confession was three months ago."

From his side, Father Ryan raised a sheet of white paper and recited, "Whoever is in Christ is a new creation: the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come. And all this is from God, who has reconciled us to himself through Christ and given us the ministry of reconciliation." Father Ryan looked up to indicate the next words were hers.

Despite the determination that had brought her to the confessionary, Cassandra peered downward as she clutched her hands. She anticipated the impact with all her being and braced for the worst.

"Father, I have sinned. Badly. Terribly."

Even without looking at him, Cassandra could sense some kind of physical shift in the old monsignor. "Terribly, you say?"

"I knew," Cassandra said. "Knew it was wrong. But wanted… I don't know…"

"Cassandra, what's wrong?" Father Ryan said. "I've never seen you like this."

"The boy, from before?" Cassandra looked up.

Father Ryan seemed to struggle for a moment, but then it came to him. "Yes, I remember now. It bothered you how he was touching."

Cassandra looked down and nodded slowly, her hands still in a tight prayer clasp. "Yes… not a boy."

When Father Ryan remained silent, she reluctantly looked at him again. He looked perplexed. "What do you mean? You mean he was an adult? He was much older than you?"

Cassandra breathed a heavy sigh. She wasn't sure if he asked in earnest or was intentionally trying to force her to say it herself. It seemed she had no choice. "He was a she."

Father Ryan still looked confused for a moment before his body clenched and he nodded. "I understand now."

"Knew it was wrong. She doesn't even believe. Was confused, just got hurt."

The old monsignor opened his mouth to say something, paused, and appeared to decide against it. "Are you feeling better now?"

Cassandra managed half of a smile. "Much better now."

"I don't know anything about this other person you had this… experience with, but we must remember to pray for her too."

Cassandra looked to the side and lingered, as if she was conflicted. "… Yes."

"Was there anything else?" Father Ryan asked. "Did anything more than you told me before happen?"

The memory of the last night at Sadie's house crept into Cassandra's mind, but she pushed it away as fast as she could. "No. Told her no."

"You did the right thing," Father Ryan said. "You might still be hurting—"

She responded swiftly. "I'm not."

Father Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose and looked toward Cassandra until their eyes met again. "I'm sure it took a lot out of you to tell me that. You've committed a sin, but when you've done your penance, it will be washed away." The two briefly sat in silence before he asked, "Was there anything else?"

Cassandra looked away again and briefly squeezed the arm of her chair. "Most of my thoughts today."

"Then for these and any sins you hold in silence, you have been absolved. Did you bring your rosary?"

Cassandra ran a hand along her pocket to confirm. "Yes."

"Say a whole one, if not before you leave, then before the end of the night," Father Ryan said.

The two bowed their heads and clasped their hands together. Father Ryan spoke slowly, Cassandra followed a word behind.

" _O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell. But most of all because I have offended you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen."_

===000===

Cassandra's descent into the Batcave from Wayne Manor seemed slower than usual, if only because she hadn't taken it in some time. As the sound of the water that rushed beneath the cave hit her and the doors opened to the half-lit hideaway, Cassandra was more focused than she had been in years. Bruce sat at his central console, only half in uniform.

He turned his chair enough to spot her as she stepped out of the elevator. "You're early."

"Wanted to move." Cassandra stepped forward and stretched a leg. "Been too long."

"I'm letting you go back out, and in return you're going to stick to some smaller cases until I'm sure you're back on your feet."

Cassandra sighed. The two had been over this at least half a dozen times. "I know."

"Those two, looking specifically for you, are still out there. And from everything Tim went through, they're onto something much bigger."

Cassandra stepped closer to the console. "Looking for them?"

"When I can," Bruce said. "After that stunt that cost them their base, Tim and Stephanie should be on probations of their own right now. But between Lipov, those kids in the mechanical suits and the Arkham inmates, we're spread thin enough as is."

Cassandra looked at the upper-left corner of the screen. The aggressive mugshots of Poison Ivy, the Mad Hatter and Victor Zsasz glared back at her.

"I'm sending you and Stephanie to investigate Tetch," Bruce said. "To the police's knowledge, he and his men seem to be largely unarmed at this point, but there's a good chance they have a cache of equipment waiting for them somewhere." He pointed to the map of Gotham on the right. "There's a condemned Park Row bookstore, a tea shop to the south I've always been on the edge of proving is a front and a kitsch board game shop, all within five blocks of one another. Should be some good vantage points, I just want you and Stephanie to patrol for any suspicious figures."

The young heroine glared up at the three mugshots. "I can do more."

"You've just finished recovering." Bruce pushed up from his chair and the two met eyes. "One night at a time. Go get dressed."


	27. Chapter 24

"Everything all right with it then? Leg's not bugging you anymore?"

"No," Cassandra said.

"That's good. I get my ACL cut, you get your leg broken, we're practically starting a new tradition. Given another year, Tim will have a smashed foot or something."

Cassandra, a pair of binoculars in hand, said nothing as she and Stephanie waited atop a multi-tenant business building. The condemned bookstore and Asian tea shop Bruce had mentioned waited on the opposite side of the street. Each seemed infected by the feeling of decay that hung over much of Park Rowe, the sign over the book shop looked as if it could come unhinged and fall from its place at the slightest breeze.

"You've been awfully quiet tonight," Stephanie said. "You got the jitters or something?"

Cassandra turned from the binoculars and frowned at her. "What?"

"You know, nervousness because you haven't been out in a while—"

"Never nervous. Not to fight" Cassandra spoke sternly. "You know that."

Stephanie raised her hands. "I didn't mean to offend. I'm sorry."

Cassandra took a deep breath and looked through the binoculars again. Stephanie leaned back against the wall of the building and eyed her friend carefully.

Stephanie asked, "You want me to keep watch for a bit?"

"Keeps me busy."

Stephanie resigned herself to occasionally checking the motion censors on the board game shop a few blocks away. Bruce had warned it could potentially be a boring night, but she wasn't in any position to argue with him at that point. After the bunker was lost, a lot of his regulations tightened considerably. Stephanie couldn't even store any of her digital textbooks in the uniform's internal mainframe to pass the time or keep up on lost chances to study. So she was stuck on the rooftop with Cassandra, maybe until the sun came up, waiting on someone who might not even show.

She had long since gotten used to Cassandra's silence on most matters. Stephanie used to not even expect answers out of her. It was the irritation Cassandra responded with that put her off. Stephanie could respect just needing space, but Cassandra had been alone most of the day most every day for the last three months.

"Someone's there."

Stephanie snapped back to reality when Cassandra spoke and approached the edge of the roof. On street level was a car with its headlights off, despite the dark of night. Out from it came a gaggle of colorful dots.

"Mind if I take a look?"

Cassandra passed Stephanie the binoculars. The dots took the shape of a pair of tall men, one short haired and white, the other bald and Latino, in black leather jackets, two bulbous figures and a slimmer one in the center. The torn, beaten nature of his suit coat and moth-chewed hat suggested he had hastily bought them at a thrift shop because he felt naked without them.

"That's our Hatter guy." Stephanie handed the binoculars back to Cassandra. "Those look like his tweedle beetles or whatever they call themselves with him. The big ones—round ones, I mean. I don't recognize the normal-sized guys."

"Go," Cassandra said. "Before they reach their cache." She took a step before Stephanie put out her arm.

"Hang on," she said. "Bruce said he was sure they had a weapon cache in there, but that he could never find it. If we let them get a little closer, we can rip their inventory apart when we're finished."

Cassandra looked back and forth between Stephanie and the four that approached the store and nodded slowly. The Mad Hatter fumbled around in his pocket for a key, slid it into the door and stepped into the bookshop, followed by his employees.

Angel and Batgirl descended the rooftop on opposite sides of the bookstore just out of sight of the windows. Dust and cracks make it difficult to see into the shop. The two the heroines didn't recognize crawled on all fours, eyes close to the ground. Tweedledee walked to the opposite side of the shop where he pushed an old, empty bookshelf aside. Tweedledum pulled a few objects out, though the dirty window made it impossible to tell what.

"What the heck?" Batgirl was barely audible. "What are those two on the floor doing?"

When a minute passed, the Hatter looked toward the window in a jerk but then looked back down, as if he hadn't seen anything. Another minute passed, he checked the window and looked at his goons again.

Batgirl risked words. "Do you think he knows we're here?"

Despite the whisper, the Mad Hatter's head jolted up again and stared out the window. His lips moved, one of the Tweedle cousins stood up straight, dug behind the bookcase and drew a long-barreled gun. The Mad Hatter said something more, the weighty man reached back again for a nightstick and slowly approached the door.

Batgirl drew her staff, Angel remained motionless.

"Angel? Hey, Angel?" Batgirl said. "Guy's got a gun, are you gonna be ready?"

Angel's only reaction was a small nod. The door to the shop _eeked_ open as Tweedledee stuck his head out and looked to his left. For a split second, he and Angel locked eyes.

Angel stepped forward and kicked the frame of the door. Tweedledee shouted as his bulbous head was caught between the slam of the door and the building's frame. Angel perused him as he retreated into the building, ripped the nightstick from his hand, delivered on thrust to his chest and three to his face when he bent forward. Tweedledee's doughy body hit the floor before he understood what happened. Batgirl followed Angel in, thrown by how fast she'd knocked him down.

The Mad Hatter grit his teeth. "The Batman is sending children after me? I'll teach him not to—"

Angel drew her grappling hook and fired. The four claws on the mechanism squeezed and dug at the Mad Hatter's throat and silenced him save for a gag. Angel yanked him forward and smashed the Hatter's face with a hook punch. The madman stumbled for his balance a moment before he collapsed backwards. Tweedledum pulled a gun out from behind the bookcase, but Batgirl leapt in front of him and locked her staff against the gun to keep him from aiming. The men in black jackets continued to feel around the floor as if nothing had happened.

Hand on his clip-on bowtie, Angel pulled the Hatter upward so she could look him in the eyes and said nothing.

"Angry as a queenie, aren't you?" The Hatter said. "Going to shout out with my head then—"

With her free hand, Angel punched him in the face again. And again. And again. By the burst of blood her third strike must have broken his nose. The force was enough to rip the bowtie from his neck and the Hatter again sank against the concrete floor of the bookshop.

"Enough!" His voice was shrill. "Through and through, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack!"

The exclamation was strange enough for Angel to pause a moment to process before four hands grabbed her from behind and flung her to the floor. The white man and the Latino stood over her, and for the first time she could see their eyes were wide, bloodshot and seemed to be blank. Both men rested their knees on top of Angel's outstretched arms, the weight enough to pin her to the ground.

"I'll gimble a hold in your head!" The Hatter crossed his servants and knelt down at a small hole in the floor. "It will be frabjous, you little jubjub!"

There came a _slam_ across the room. Just as the Mad Hatter stepped back into Angel's view with a new hat with a clock in the center, Batgirl rushed over and tackled him. Angel twisted her arms and, after a brief struggle, forced one of her arms out from under her attackers. The attacker on her left took two punches before he let up on her other arm.

Batgirl forced the Mad Hatter into a chokehold as he struggled and squirmed. "I know how this hypnosis stuff works!" Batgirl said. "There's a kill switch phrase or something. You brought those guys here under a trance, let them out!"

"Never!" The Mad Hatter tried to bite Batgirl's clasped arm, but couldn't get through her armor. "They're all mad here!"

Angel grabbed ahold of her two attackers and smashed their heads together. For the first time, the two grunted. She turned her attention to the one with short hair, blocked a hook punch and threw two of her own, one to his gut and then another to his head. The Latino rusher her and Angel slid one foot behind the other to careen a kick into his face. Both fell to the ground, dazed if not unconscious.

"… Jesus."

Angel frowned, turned and glared at Batgirl. "What?"

"I'm sorry, that's not me, but… damn." As the Mad Hatter continued to struggle, Batgirl thrust him onto the ground and pulled a pair of handcuffs from her belt. "You didn't have to do that—I mean, you shouldn't have. They were clearly under mind control."

Her companion looked back toward the two. Neither appeared to move voluntarily, but they were still breathing. "They will recover."

"That's just usually not you. Not if you can help it." When Angel said nothing, Batgirl stepped closer to the latest piece of the Hatter's headware and the small opening in the floor. "Don't know what he must have done to keep Batman from knowing about that, but I guess it's taken care of now."

Angel stepped over to the overturned bookcase next to the unconscious Tweedledum. "Another opening here."

"Don't go interfering with all that!" The Mad Hatter shouted. "Cost me more than ten by six, it all did!"

As the Hatter rambled, Angel closed the distance between them and kicked him in the face. The strike silenced him as he rolled onto his side and blood spilt from his mouth and nostrils.

Batgirl flinched. "Geeze, I know he was annoying, but we were about to leave anyway."

"Talked too much," Angel said.

Batgirl stared a moment, though Angel didn't look directly at her. "I know it's your first night back on patrol… are you feeling all right?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

The tiniest drop seeped into Angel's voice. "Yes."

"Okay." Batgirl slowly looked over the damage before she looked to the two unconscious men without costumes. "I'd better get an ambulance out here."

"Do." Angel slid open the door. "Then we go. Lots of time before sunrise."

Stephanie slowly punched the number into her cowl and stared at her friend outside. She wouldn't press the matter, all the wounds were probably still too fresh. But something was very, very wrong.


	28. Chapter 25

Cassandra and Stephanie shared a night off two days later. It took some talk, but Stephanie convinced her to come along to a new tea parlor that had just opened a mile from Gotham U's campus.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Stephanie said. "You've been stuck in bed. We haven't gotten to go anywhere out of costume for ages, it feels like."

"It's far," Cassandra said. "To get me and then go back. You have to take me home again."

"That's fine. I seriously don't mind. I just want to hang out for a bit."

The café was called "The Sun Room," and a quick glance at the outside quickly gave away its university student focus. A few upperclassmen stumbled out as Stephanie held the door, and even if the smell was faint, there was definitely marijuana on them. Stephanie sighed as Cassandra passed her and considered it might not have been the best place to talk. But they were already there, it wouldn't help the situation to move around too much.

The café had a lower level the cashier said was popular with studying college students, it seemed that would be the best place to talk without distraction. With a pitcher of hot water, a few tea bags and some treats from behind the counter balanced on a tray, the two descended into the basement. A pair of students, a bigger woman with green hair and a more petite one with glasses sat in the corner opposite the staircase and neither looked up as Stephanie and Cassandra sat down at the nearest table. The walls of the basement were covered in mildly tacky stick-ons of Asian characters (neither of the two could tell from what country) and a few decals of anime faces with wide eyes and smiles.

Cassandra didn't say anything as she tore open one of the tea bags, set it in the bottom of her cup and poured the hot water over it.

Stephanie watched carefully as she nibbled on a tiny bite of strawberry pastry. "How do you know when it's ready?"

Cassandra shrugged. "When the color is right."

"But how do you know when it's right?"

Cassandra sighed. "I just do." As she gently stirred the cup, the water within slowly turned to a shade of light and then murky green as tea seeped out from the bag.

"I was never any good at this stuff." Stephanie tried to free the tea bag with her fingers, but after the plastic fought her, she brought the packaging to her mouth and tore it with her teeth. "I'm not patient enough."

"When why come here?" There was a tinge of annoyance in Cassandra's voice.

"Because, as I keep saying, I just want to hang out with you." Stephanie poured hot water over the tea leaves, stared for a second and then compared it with the coloration in Cassandra's glass. "We used to hang out all the time."

As she took a slow sip, Cassandra looked between the two women who studied in the corner, Stephanie and the stairway back upstairs. "What if… they think I'm with you?"

"Come on, is that what you're weirded out by?" Stephanie stirred her tea mug. "Girlfriends go and do stuff together like this."

"You are not my—"

"Not like girlfriend girlfriends. Come on, I think you know what I'm trying to say here." Stephanie spooned in a little sugar from the tray and mixed. "Cassie, what's wrong?"

Cassandra looked away. "What you said."

"Then what else is wrong?" Stephanie frowned and caught Cassandra look over just enough to know she caught it. "Because you've barely wanted to talk about anything since you hurt you got hurt."

Cassandra turned her attention to the tea mug and took another sip. "Never talk much."

"I know, but it is a lot less than usual," Stephanie said. "Or you at least find other ways to talk to us when you can't. You like being able to communicate, or at least you always have."

If she'd have looked up straight, Cassandra would have flashed Stephanie the glaring look in her eyes and scowl. But she was unwilling to escalate their conflict. "Nothing to say."

Stephanie sighed and sipped from her mug. "I'm sorry if I'm being too forward. I'm sorry if you feel like I dragged you out here. I'm just worried about you. I think we all are, a little bit."

Cassandra still looked away. "I am fine."

Stephanie set down the cup, took a heavy breath and spoke as hushed as she could manage. "That stuff the other night didn't seem 'fine' to me."

Cassandra finally looked up again to reveal her glare. "I did my job."

"Yeah, and you did it a little too well," Stephanie said. "You got carried away. That isn't like you."

Cassandra swiped one of the treats from the center of the tray. "That's my choice." And looked away again.

The two sat in silence for a few seconds, each did little but sip their tea. At one point, Stephanie did raise a hand to rub at her forehead.

Cassandra asked, "How much longer?"

Stephanie responded as if she hadn't heard her. "This is about Sadie, isn't it."

A shook ran through Cassandra's body and a drop of hot tea spilled over the side of her mug. Cassandra winced a moment, set the cup down and spoke slow and stern. "What?"

"I was trying not to talk about it while you were stuck in bed. I thought maybe you'd work it out on your own… I know what happened."

Cassandra leaned backward and narrowed her eyes into a glare. "How?"

Stephanie set an elbow against the table so she could hold her forehead and breathed a long sigh. "What do you mean 'how?' She told me. I still talk to her sometimes. She's a good friend."

One of Cassandra's arms slipped over the other until they were crossed. "Then you know she wasn't."

"Cassie, listen, I agree one hundred percent that what she did to you was crappy. I feel awful about it—"

"I did the right thing." Cassandra struggled to keep her voice stable. "Her fault."

"Try to keep your voice down," Stephanie said.

"Why? You already know. Doesn't matter who else does."

"Cassie, would you please work with me here for just a second? There's something I need to know." When Cassandra didn't say anything, Stephanie inhaled deeply and continued. "Did you tell her no?"

"Yes, I—"

"Before the time she said you did it so quietly she couldn't hear you, and you told her about it after the fact?"

Cassandra bit her lip and considered lying for a moment before, with reluctance, she said, "No."

"Look, you obviously weren't ready for what happened. I know that," Stephanie said. "But Sadie doesn't know anything about how you grew up, what you understand and what you don't. It's not like Tim and me."

It took a moment for the information to process, but when it did, Cassandra flinched. "You what?"

"Huh?"

"Not like you and Tim… what?"

Stephanie raised her mug just in front of her face as it started to red. "I mean… You know. You're not really going to make me say it, are you?"

Cassandra's hand clenched into a fist. "Tim's Catholic."

The implications of the situation came to Stephanie slowly, and as they did she put a hand to her head. "Yes. I know that."

"Then why—"

"Because we wanted to," Stephanie said. "I don't know what else you're expecting me to say, but that's it."

Cassandra leaned forward, fingers pressed to her forehead, breath heavy. "He shouldn't have. And you shouldn't have—"

"Get ahold of yourself." Stephanie spoke normally until she caught a look from the two women on the room's opposite side and hushed. "Cassie, I love you like family, but this seriously isn't up to you."

"You knew."

"Yeah, and so did he," Stephanie said. "If God has a problem with it, we're going to have to deal with that. But that doesn't mean you get to be mad at me over this."

An open palm _smashed_ against the table. Stephanie flinched, the two women across the basement watched with greater interest. Cassandra looked to be fighting something internal, though Stephanie couldn't tell if it was anger or sadness.

"You need forgiveness."

"You're not the judge of that," Stephanie slumped backwards. "Not everyone gets the same things out of life that you do. And if you start demanding that from them, you're going to be very disappointed."

Cassandra pushed her mug away. "I'll call Dad. Going home."

Despite some internal protests, Stephanie said nothing as Cassandra rose from the table and made for the staircase. Her heart was still pounding, her breaths were still heavy. She glanced down at the few treats that remained in the center of the tray and picked one. She didn't really want it, she just wanted to give Cassandra more time so they wouldn't bump into one another outside.

From the edge of her periphery, Stephanie saw the bigger woman with green hair rise from her seat, the smaller one looked to protest in hushed whispers, but it didn't stop her. The woman with green hair crossed the basement and leaned over Cassandra's chair.

"Hey there," she said. "Don't mean to be weird, that just looked kind of rough."

Stephanie took a deep breath and blew it at her own face. "It was."

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Not in the way you're thinking." Stephanie had a finger over the rim of her tea mug when she backtracked. "I mean, not to be presumptive. Just, probably not… I don't know. I don't know what you're thinking."

The woman laughed. "It's okay. I don't know what you and that friend of yours are going through, but it's pretty clear she's got some walls up. I don't know what's going on, but judging by all that, I'll bet she's hurt pretty bad."

Stephane slumped forward and rested her chin on her arms. "Yeah."

"Was it something you did?"

"No. I mean, I pissed her off I guess. But I wasn't the reason when we came in."

The green-haired woman nodded. "You seem like a good friend for trying to communicate."

Stephanie mustered half a smile. "Thanks."

"If she doesn't want to talk, if you know of anything that she's dealing with right now, maybe you just need some more perspective," she said. "Perspective's a good thing in a relationship. Romantic or otherwise."

Stephanie pushed up from her chair. "Yeah? I'll see if I can do anything with that, thank you."

"Good luck to the both of you, whatever you're dealing with."

As Stephanie walked back up the stairs toward her car, her mind began to move again. She would have probably come to the woman's advice anyway, but talking had sped up the process. As she turned on the car, she moved the radio dial to channel 107.7.

For attacking her friend when she was vulnerable and screwing around with her head, Cameron Gram had earned Stephanie's animosity. She had a new enemy, it was time to study him.


	29. Chapter 26

After some arguments and exchanges, Bruce reluctantly gave Stephanie and Tim the news he was reassigning Cassandra to his patrol for the evening. As he drove through Gotham with Cassandra in the Batmobile's front seat, he tapped on the steering wheel almost involuntarily.

"I don't know what's come over you since the injury," he said. "But I'm not going to cover for you every night."

"Need space," Cassandra said. "Give me time."

"I still can't have you doing anything extreme," Bruce said. "You still need to work your way up to that. If I get any word of the Zsasz case, I'll need you to sit it out—"

"Zsasz can't fight," Cassandra said. "Not well."

"He's erratic, too erratic for you to predict attacks against," Bruce said. "And beyond that he gets in your head. He could keep talking after you've broken every tooth in his head. And you don't need that right now."

Cassandra was about to object when Bruce scowled, brought a hand to the side of his cowl and looked off intently. Cassandra frowned and looked toward him.

"We've got work to do." Bruce accelerated and made a sharp left turn. "A kidnapping in progress, from the sounds of it."

"Where?"

"The witnesses said the van was headed down 21st. Some group started grabbing women and children as they were walking out of the mosque on Avery."

For a moment, Cassandra just nodded as she tried place what one of his words meant. It clicked slowly, but then came to her. "Mosque?"

"Islamic place of worship."

Cassandra didn't say anything, but the memory of one of Cameron Gram's many sermons reverberated through her head. Though she couldn't remember exactly what they were, Cassandra remembered they had been harsh. But she had already bickered with Bruce to change her assignment for the night, she didn't like her odds of asking again.

As Bruce accelerated down 21st street, another vehicle rushed through the opposite lanes. It was a white van, like something an electrician would drive, and its speed and reckless weaving made the other drivers on its side of the street blast their horns.

Batman glared. "That's no service vehicle."

Angel clung to the handle next to her seat in preparation. Batman smashed into the breaks, jerked the steering wheel in the opposite direction and floored the gas pedal. The honks grew louder as the white van slipped into the wrong lane and two cars crashed into one another in an attempt to dodge it.

The situation already made Angel's blood chill. "White van. Ones in armor drove one."

"I know," Batman said. "Gordon had that van impounded though. And what would those kids be doing in a kidnapping plot."

Fists tight to the side of the car, Angel's glare tightened as Batman began to close in. "Working with Lipov."

"Fine, what is Lipov doing in a kidnapping plot?"

As if to answer his challenge, one of the back doors of the van swung open. Neither Batman nor Angel could see Melody clearly as she slipped to the door and adjusted her gloves, and by the time they saw her at all it was too late. The villainess delivered a sonic-reinforced punch to the pavement that cracked and tore open the road for a block backwards. Batman hit the brakes again as the Batmobile hit a nasty fissure and spun out. Batman and Angel were both thrown to and fro as the vehicle came to a complete stop in the middle of the street as more cars honked and skidded. The roads were damaged, but the two would not be deterred as Batman's foot smashed into the gas and they sped after the utility van.

"Prep the slash turrets," Batman said without looking toward Angel. "I don't know how many of them are in there, but if we can take that van, we can book some of them while we save the hostages."

Angel complied as she prepped the on-board computer and enabled the Batmobile's weapon system, but paused at the request for the tire-slashers as Harmony punched the ground again and Batman had to dodge. "Blast shells, knock her out."

"No," Batman said. "Let me worry about dodging. Don't aim into the van, you could hit one of the hostages, and they aren't covered in armor."

Angel said nothing, but her set up for the tire-slasher was slow. The white van made another tight turn and, as the Batmobile struck some of the freshest of Harmony's destroyed ground, Batman and Angel were airborne for a second and hit the ground again with a thunderous _thud_. Both of their heads crashed into the ceiling, and though Batman was largely protected by his cowl, Angel grabbed at her head as a surge of pain and ache took over her.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine. Fine." Angel turned back toward the weapon system, confirmed her selection on the tire-slashers and took aim.

The Batmobile's text to speech dutifully stated, "Slashers activated."

Harmony would not let up. Each punch in the pavement ripped open new cracks and potholes for Batman to drive round and eventually even a few signs and street lamps came tumbling down. The Batmobile could handle the damage, but the destruction on the road and Batman's dodges made it impossible for Angel to properly target the tires of the van. A few slashers made it close enough to scratch the car's bumper, but none slowed its high speed. Angel's glare turned into a scowl. There would be no catching the van as long as Harmony was punching the road.

Angel punched a few commands into the computer.

"Rubber blast shells activated."

Batman did not take his eyes off the ever-damaged road, but his voice lowered to a snarl to compensate. "What do you think you're doing?"

Angel took aim at Melody. "Fixing problem."

"I gave you an order," Batman said. "You don't want to hit anyone else in the van by accident."

"I won't miss," Angel said.

"I'm not asking!"

Within moments, five pivotal actions took place. Batman took his eyes off the road to command Angel not the take the shot. At the same time, Angel pulled the trigger. As Harmony punched the street again, a rubber bullet flew into her face and knocked her backwards with a broken tooth and a ring through her head. But with his momentary distraction Batman ran the Batmobile into one of the newest and largest fissures in the street. The Batmobile flew off the ground again, spun out, threw the two heroes to and throw within until it careened into a traffic light and knocked it over. Angel flew forward and smashed her head into the car inches from the glass. For a moment, all of the sound around her from Batman's shouting to the creak of the Batmobile were silenced behind a dull roar in the front of her throbbing, bloody face.

When her hearing recovered enough, Batman shook her and demanded, "Are you still awake? Answer me!"

Angel held her cracked head as the dizziness faded. "Yes."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Angel said nothing for a moment, as if she didn't understand.

"I said how many fingers?"

"… Four."

Batman pulled open his door of the Batmobile, followed by hers and pulled her out. She was already recovering, but she could already feel the whiplash setting in.

As Bruce leaned her against a nearby building, a drug store that had closed for the night, Angel squinted. The white van had come to a stop two blocks in front of them and out from one of its doors two bodies, one tall, one small, emerged. The two ran toward her as fast as they could as Harmony stepped out of the van with her fists clenched.

"Stop them," Angel said. "Still moving—"

"Not in your condition," Batman said. "I can't just leave you here."

Four more bodies of various sizes emerged from the van and attempted to run past Harmony when a blast of neon pink followed them out and formed a barricade. Angel could just make out the outline of Miranda as they four were quickly corralled back into the van. Harmony looked back and forth between the two who had escaped before she too retreated into the van and it sped off again.

Angel clenched her fist. "Need to stop them."

"I'm going after them," Batman said. "I'll call Red Robin and Batgirl to get you."

"No!" Angel punched the ground. "I am fine! I can fight!"

"I told you not to take that shot." Batman's voice rose in anger. "You ignored me."

Angel was about to protest further when the two escapees, a middle-aged woman and a young girl, both dressed in red hijab, approached them. The little girl ran and clung to Batman's leg as he sobbed.

"Praise Allah," the woman said between gasps as she approached. "You have saved us—" As if she could not control emotions, her eyes suddenly went wet. "My husband! Sir, they still have my husband!"

Batman looked between the woman and the still-bloody Angel for a moment. "It's going to be all right—"

"No!" The little girl at his leg shouted. "No, not all right!"

"Then men and women in that van, I don't know what they want, but we were herded like animals," the woman said. "Please, you can't let them do this."

"I'm not going to," Batman said. "But my partner just sustained an injury—"

"Go," Angel said. "Police will come soon. I will be fine."

Batman scowled at her and slowly peeled the small child from his leg.

"We can keep guard," the woman said. "Please, you saved our lives, it is the least we can do. Just bring my husband back to me."

Batman and Angel both looked down the street. The white van had vanished, but could not have made it far. Batman looked to her and said, "We'll talk about this later," before he threw aside his cape and climbed back into the Batmobile.

As he sped off, the little girl fell into Angel's body and cried. As her mother objected, the heroine, by nothing but instinct, raised and ran a hand over the little bit of her hair that had come loose from the hijab. Her mother, resigned to her helplessness, leaned against the side of the building and held her face to fight back more tears.

For at least one of the several reasons that came across her still-pounding head, Angel regretted taking the shot.


	30. Batgirl- Issue 1

Stephanie sighed, leaned back and pulled off her headphones. The document on her laptop labeled, "People Cam Gram Hates" was two and a half pages long with bullet points. After an hour of listening to his digital sermons, she was exhausted. She considered asking Tim to help her hack the WWJD radio website so she could bypass the paywall, but reluctantly gave in to the ten dollar per month giving model that allowed her to listen to all of Gram's recorded ramblings. She would cancel the minute her studying was over and Bruce would probably pay her back if it was really an issue.

Next to the "People Cam Gram Hates" document was another full of information copied and pasted from his online biography and peppered with Stephanie's own notes. Cameron Robert Gram was born in Decatur, Georgia, to Pentecostal parents. He studied radio and television in college, though he did not graduate. He received his license to pastor at twenty-two and married a college sweetheart named Rachel. Though he had made some distance from his Pentecostal upbringing, some of its elements still turned up in his largely non-denominational style of preaching. He and his wife had eight children, four biological, four adopted. On that ground at least, Stephanie figured he deserved some credit. At least he put his money where his mouth was in terms of adoption support. In the midst of the thought, a tiny fear awoke within and she zoomed in on one of his family portraits on the website. None of his girls looked anything like she did at their respective ages between two and twelve. Stephanie sighed in relief. Wherever her long-lost daughter was, she wasn't with him.

Most of the rest of Stephanie's research almost felt predictable. Gram preached in California and Chicago before he made his way to Gotham. It was his style to spread his liturgy around to traditionally liberal or crime-ridden areas to try serving as a holy shot in the arm. He would stick around Gotham for a few more years and would take up work in the Wellspring of Hope church over by Sadie's neighborhood once construction was completed. Gram certainly wasn't swimming in donations and taxpayer purchases like some of his contemporaries, but a Google Maps search of his home indicated he was still well off. A few of his sermons included talk of "planting monetary seeds" for greater rewards later in life. Those probably paid for his house, car and children.

"And my dad used to be a gameshow host." Stephanie wrote the remark as she said it. "He could probably get you similar results."

The third floor of the Gotham University library was always on the edge of emptiness even on the most active days. With its quiet atmosphere, sterile white walls and rows of reference material, it became the closest place to home for Stephanie since the Bunker had to be abandoned. Jordanna gave her crap about how she suddenly turned up in their room again after sporadic ins and outs for the rest of the semester and, Stephanie suspected, spread some talk about her sleeping around.

 _Whatever. I never bothered you about every guy I know you've had over_. Stephanie used her teeth to tear into a bag of Funyuns. _If they didn't want us eating in here, they shouldn't have vending machines by the bathrooms_.

As she munched from the bag, her mind wandered back to Cassandra. _And apparently, even my best friend thinks I'm a slut now. Maybe she and Jordanna should start hanging out._

Stephanie took another deep breath and opened her pictures folder. Between collections of psychedelic backgrounds and blurry, low-res photos from concerts was one entitled "WMGT," short for, "Wayne Manor Get-Togethers." She double-clicked it. Within were dozens of pictures across a few different nights. A few were public gatherings, others were friends and family by invitation only. There was one she'd used as a profile picture online for months of her and Tim as they acted like they were animals roaring at one another. It wasn't flattering, but it was funny.

 _Cassie's mad at me because of you, virgin-boy._ Stephanie rested her head against an open palm. _It's not like I fought or argued with you or anything. I asked if you were up for it and you sounded like you'd been waiting forever._

A few pictures later were her and Cassandra, arms across one another's shoulders. Stephanie's grin was big and goofy, Cassandra looked as if she was trying everything to emulate it.

 _… I can't. I can't stay mad at you._

In the next picture were the three of them, along with Sadie at Cassandra's side, a little smidge of pink lipstick on one of Cassandra's cheeks.

 _I know you're hurting. I know both of you are, even if neither of you wants to admit it._

Sadie and Stephanie only communicated about once per week, usually a few texts or IMs just to check in. Stephanie did like to talk and did think of Sadie as a friend, but it was awkward for both of them to be in contact without the glue that originally held them together.

Tim didn't think it made sense to attribute much of Cassandra and Sadie's breakup to Cameron Gram's influence. Cassandra only began her deep dive after their separation and chastity was, indeed, a major teaching in the Catholic Church. Still, Gram would celebrate the damage that had occurred if he had any knowledge of it, and had poisoned her friend's mind with his anger and disdain. If there was some skeleton in his closet, Stephanie was determined to find it.

As she shut the pictures folder, Stephanie pulled up the web page again. The dates on Gram's sermons were only visible after opening a particular MP3. They were instead arranged by topics, which she had slowly slogged through in search of anything incriminating or at least two-faced. She had already listened to various preachings on "Marriage," "God and Sexuality" and "The Bible and Prosperity." "The Deception of False Idols" seemed like a logical next step, however painful it was sure to be. Stephanie groaned audibly at the first MP3 entitled, "Not So Different? Islam's False Promise." She slipped her headphones back on, shut her eyes tight and braced for the worst.

"The most cunning of Islam's deceivers would have you believe they are not so different from us. That they worship a different interpretation of the same God. But our deliverer and their 'Allahs' and their 'Mohammeds' could not be less alike. Even if they aren't all foolish enough to attack us, there is no such thing as a 'moderate Muslim.' The same way our deliverance is our faith, theirs is attacking anyone who does not see their extremism. No peaceful person has any place practicing that faith, none."

Gram went on for several minutes about violence in the Middle East, terrorism and a call for more extreme boarder protections. Stephanie was by no means an expert in her own faith, let alone any other one, but the way Gram droned on and on about what sounded like fractured quotes taken out of context and grandiose conspiracy talk made her confident he wasn't discussing factual information. If there was any single person in the United States actually trying to impose Sharia Law, they were unaware of what an arduous process large-scale law change required in the US. Maybe Gram had dropped out of college before he'd ever taken a Civics class. As he continued to ramble, Stephanie buried her face in her arms and looked down at the desk.

"And it's truly unfortunate that, in their so-called crusade for tolerance, the faithless have made it easier for new extremists to be born. They demand we show respect for a 'faith' that radicalizes its young and attacks its women. If prayer and worship were still permitted in school, perhaps we could take the first step in saving these poor children who will only grow up to be new, violent enemies of our way of life tomorrow."

Stephanie paused the video and let out a muffled scream into the desk. The sheer obliviousness on display was giving her a headache. She couldn't take anymore. It was time to be done with research for the night. It was only as she unplugged her headphones that she gave the webpage a last, passing glance and froze.

Gram's rant was dated September 8th, four days before. Stephanie straightened in her seat, opened a search bar and entered, "Gotham Mosque Kidnapping."

Just as Bruce had described in the encrypted files he sent her and Tim every day, he and Cassandra had interfered with a kidnapping of ten men, women and children from a mosque on Avery Street. The stories were dated September 10th, which meant the abductions themselves must have been the night before, the 9th.

Cameron Gram posted a seriously angry rant about Muslims less than forty-eight hours before a gang of criminals Batman confirmed were the Reapers kidnapped a bunch of them. Thoughts flooded Stephanie's mind as she stared at the date.

The first, and to her knowledge, only interaction between Cassandra and Gram personally had been the same night Lipov and the Odmience had first attacked. According to what she'd read of Cassandra and Shiva's conversation, Lipov was so obsessed with tormenting his targets that some escaped him before he could kill them. And Gram was the total antithesis of Cassandra's own beliefs, as if he personally reveled in making her faith look selfish.

Was Gram part of something much bigger? Had Lipov brought an aid to Gotham with him besides the Odmience?

 _Hang on, stop_. Stephanie leaned forward and clutched her head again. Did that theory really hold any weight? Was she suggesting Lipov was waiting for Gram and Cassie to bump into one another by happenstance so Gram could say a few mean things before she and the Odmience fought for the first time? Wasn't Lipov trying to kill her and David when he led them to the Final Offer, a night Gram had no part in? It wasn't like Gram looked to be doing anything but business as usual over the tenure Cassandra spent in the cast. And what sense did it make to drop a clue about a kidnapping where anyone could hear it?

 _… Dad left clues for the police and Bruce to find. Gotham draws stupid, showy criminals like moths to flames._

Stephanie set her hand on top of her laptop, intent on closing it for the evening, but paused to open enter a last note in her document. If she made the case to Tim and Bruce that Gram was in league with Lipov, they'd say it sounded like a bad conspiracy theory. Still, a little more investigation couldn't hurt.

 _People Cam Gram Hates_

 _\- David and Cassie Cain…?_


	31. Chapter 27

In order, the police received reports of attacks and thefts at a Dodge dealership, a family-owned grocery, a toy shop and the invasion of a Sven's Home Galleria. Property damage was being assessed, a minivan, various baking ingredients and a set of dolls were all reported stolen. In the center of the living room décor at Sven's, the culprits lingered in two large, leather chairs next to the faux fireplaces, surrounded by various potted plants. The rest of the shoppers evacuated, they were alone.

"You think those ovens in the kitchens are on, Red? I stole all these packs of puddin' and I can't even do anything with them."

"It's all hydrogenated oils and cheap sugar, Harley. I don't know why you dragged me there in the first place."

"Aw come on! You wouldn't eat my puddin'? Not even if I rolled around in it first?"

"You're trying to add indecent exposure to the list tonight?"

Harley Quinn slid deep enough into her chair that she slipped out and rolled toward Poison Ivy. On her back, she poked Ivy's bare feet and toes until she yelped and pulled them away.

"Cut it out," Ivy said.

"Aw what's the big deal? Is it cause the kids are watching?"

Across from the big chairs and the fireplace sat a collection of rag dolls stolen from the toy shop, their giant, button eyes rested on the two. Ivy crossed her legs in the chair, shut her eyes and turned away. Harley was the only meatbag in Gotham she tolerated, but even Ivy had her limits. On some small level, it was almost a relief when two bodies converged at the center of the store.

Robin spoke first as he and the Angel stepped into view. "This is all too petty for me, but apparently, this is where the boss wants my talents tonight." As he came closer, he raised a foot and kick over a fern that obstructed his way.

Ivy raised a hand. A stringy vine plant in the pot next to the fern extended toward its sibling and caught it before it hit the ground. In her eyes were little but boredom. "Didn't I hear Victor Zsasz is loose in the suburbs? I'm surprised the Batman is wasting his resources trying to interrupt us playing house."

"Yeah!" Harley jumped off the ground and slipped behind the chair she'd sat in. "Why aren't cha chasing the real bad guys tonight?"

Angel drew her dulled katana. "Every sin needs paid for."

The two villains exchanged a perplexed look before Angel rushed toward Harley. Out from behind the chair Harley raised a garishly-painted sledgehammer and parried Angel's strike. The hero was thrown off briefly by the speed a slender woman like Harley could swing the heavy hammer, and Angel took a _smash_ to her gut after a botched block. But adaption was what Angel did best. Harley's speed, if unusual, could still be predicted.

Harley's hammer hit the floor twice before Angel swung and hit Harley in her midsection hard enough to make her shriek and drop the weapon. Angel closed in and thrust three open-palm strikes into Harley before she fell backward on the ground, convulsed and screamed she couldn't feel her own body.

Something slashed Angel's cheek and she grabbed at it as she turned toward Poison Ivy. Three cacti had surrendered their thorns to the villainess, which she wielded like tiny throwing knives. If Robin had gotten a shot at her, Ivy had made some distance. Angel wiped off the blood and ran toward her.

As Robin hunched behind his cape, torn from the cactus needles, Ivy shifted her attention toward Angel. With a raised hand, a vine seemed to extend out from her wrist. Ivy swung and smacked Angel with the impromptu whip. After the first strike, Angel raised her sword and slashed as Ivy whipped toward her. Even dulled, the katana cut through the vine.

Robin recovered his footing and rushed toward Ivy on her opposite side. As the two came closer, Ivy pulled the whips back into her body. Her fists glowed green a moment as she caught Angel's katana with one hand and punched Robin in the face with the other. The strike was enough to stagger him as she slipped out one of the vines again and wrapped it around his leg. With Angel stuck in place, she hurled Robin in her direction, but the heroine relinquished her grip on the sword and dodged aside. Robin shouted as he hit the ground and Angel was forced onto the defensive as Ivy whipped at her again and again without the blade for protection.

"None of this had to happen," Ivy said. "You both should have just stayed home tonight!"

As Angel dodged the whip attacks and Harley cheered from the sidelines, Ivy was momentarily distracted from Robin's position. As he hung upside-down from one of his ankles, Ivy made the mistake of letting him too close to the hand that held the katana. Distracted by her own whipping, Robin grabbed the sword by its dulled blade, tore it from Ivy's hand and slashed the vine that held his leg. Ivy barely registered that Robin hit the ground before he ran at her, arms open wide and tackled her into the decorative fireplace.

Angel took a step closer as Robin dug punch after punch into Ivy's face, a spray of red blood and green chlorophyll soon blended together with his uniform. The heroine turned toward Harley, her assistance with Ivy clearly wasn't necessary.

As Robin kept striking Ivy, Harley's eyes grew wide with horror. "All right, sheesh! You think that's enough already?"

Angel narrowed her look to a glare. "Ivy heals. Will be fine."

The fight and struggle was swiftly gone from Poison Ivy's body. With every punch, a shudder ran through her, but she offered no resistance.

"I can't take this—you've lost your damn mind!"

As if by will alone, Harley forced herself off the floor and tried to run toward Robin and Ivy, but crumbled as half of her body remained crippled. With her face pressed against the floor, Harley groaned in pain as tears started to well up in her eyes.

"Leave this," Angel said. "Only will make you hurt."

"What are you on about?" Harley shouted. "You talkin' about the stealing stuff? Or you finally decide you're pious enough to talk about my Ivy?"

Angel crossed her arms and said nothing. Even Ivy's throws of pain became smaller, until she hardly reacted to the punches at all.

"For God's sake, cut it out!"

All movement seemed to have stopped. Angel finally called, "Enough."

Robin rose slowly off of Ivy's unconscious body. Her entire face was overcome with the red and green of a broken nose and the purple of a pair of black eyes. As he looked down at his work, a tiny shudder of his own ran through his body Robin slipped a pair of cuffs on her and, with hesitation, approached Angel and Harley.

"She's gonna be brain dead if she even wakes up!" Harley sobbed into the ground. "What'd you go and do all that for?"

"I had a rhythm going." The tiniest of stutters slipped into his speech As Robin took account of all of the stains on his glove, he looked toward Angel. "I was expecting you to call me off when I'd done enough. You usually do… shouldn't we patch that up before the police get here?"

Again, Angel said, "Ivy heals. Needed punished."

Robin flinched. "Punished? That really doesn't sound like you."

As Harley continued to scream and shout for Ivy to give her a better sign than her tiny breaths, Angel led Robin out of the store. Their work there was done.


	32. Batgirl- Issue 2

"There's been this misconception for decades now that our savior was some kind of anarchist hippy character, but that is a notion that needs to burn out. Christ told the Jews of Jerusalem to pay their taxes and that servants must respect their masters. In the parable of the talents, the lord gives his disdain for laziness and weak will and celebrates trading skills. This is the example we have to look to when we address the growing crisis of illegal immigrants entering our country. I am compassionate to the needs of people all across the world, including to America's south, and that's why we have a legal process for this. Illegal immigration is not a victimless crime, it remains a drain on our country's resources when there are already enough people in need. I would not suggest that all people who come from Mexico come to seek wealth through crime and poison our way of life, but if we allow wonton lawlessness to take control, our country will eventually fall into the same state of disrepair it has. No one who has nothing to hide should have any fear of coming to this country legally, they just lack the patience and willpower."

Stephanie turned down the audio on her phone and slipped off her headphones. Tim drove the green sedan from Gotham U toward Wayne manor, the two were scheduled for a night on patrol while Bruce's hands were still full with the Zsasz case. Tim didn't ask what she was listening to, her headphones were in often enough during the drive and he didn't like to interrupt.

"Tim?"

"Hm?"

"Is today a Mexican holiday?"

Tim didn't take his eyes off the road, but she could still see his perplexed frown. "Uh, not that I know of. But I have no clue. Why?"

"Just wondering." Stephanie looked back down at her phone and pressed her thumb against it a few times to pretend like she was doing something. "I just thought I heard the Diversity Club were doing something, I don't know. Can't be too careful, Calendar Man's out right now, isn't he?"

Tim's eyes tightened as if he was searching for a memory. "Is he? I don't remember for sure, but I really thought Bruce caught him a month or two back."

Stephanie nodded. Even if Tim couldn't see her, the lack of response suggested to him she remembered what he was talking about. The car buzzed by for a few more miles, neither said much to the other.

Eventually, Stephanie spoke. "You know that Cassie's been getting herself pulled off our missions together, right?"

Tim sighed. "I've noticed. She only ever sends me a couple of words a night and nothing during the day. Same for you?"

"Yeah."

Tim tapped the steering wheel with several fingers as he signaled to turn left at a traffic light. "Well, you brought it up… do you know why she's giving us the quieter than normal treatment?"

Stephanie leaned back and closed her eyes. "She thinks I'm a slut."

Tim turned toward her. "What?"

"I tempted a poor little Catholic boy into premarital fornication. I don't know if she's mad at you too or thinks you're a victim."

Tim kept starring long enough that the truck behind them honked to get him to move out of the way. As Tim's attention shifted, the realization came to him and he shook his head. "I told you you shouldn't tell her."

"I know rules are rules no matter what, but do you really think she would have given it any thought before she got all weird after the injury?"

Tim's silence suggested he lingered on the question a moment before his reluctant, "I don't know."

"How far can she even get with this? Bruce is an atheist—"

"Bruce has fought gods before. And I'm pretty sure at least one angel has been part of the Justice League, meaning at least one angel has been on his payroll."

Stephanie threw up her hands. "Okay, let's not split hairs here. Nonreligious. We can totally call him nonreligious, right?"

"Yeah."

"Bruce is nonreligious. So is Barbara, so is Damian, so are a ton of other people we know and work with. Where's she going to draw the line?"

"I don't know, Steph, but somewhere." Tim's eyes tightened as he switched on his turning signal again. "Do you think you might be overreacting to this a little bit?"

Stephanie was taken aback. "Are you serious? We're talking about our friend here, turning into the things she used to fight against."

Tim shrugged. "Maybe I just think she deserves more credit than that. Not everything bad thing that happens needs to be the moment someone becomes one of the villains."

"I'm not saying—"

"When the world stops making sense to religious people, they end up running into or away from their faith. When my mom died, I ran in. When my dad was killed, I ran away. But most people eventually stabilize."

Stephanie leaned back and closed her eyes. "But most people didn't grow up like Cassie did." When Tim didn't respond, Stephanie didn't add anything. For a few miles, the car was the only one to make a sound, until she asked, "Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Having sex with me?"

A smirk crept across Tim's face. "Not even for a moment."

A little smile came over her as well. "Peeling off the costumes is a little more 'us' than a big white dress."

"I'm glad we got a little extra use out of that old bunker before Bruce put the kibosh on the whole thing."

Stephanie put out her left hand and fanned out her fingers. "You know the statistics for marriage between high school sweethearts aren't great. Do you think we're meant to beat the odds?"

"I don't think there's enough data to conclude what being partners in a vigilante team does to those chances." Tim reached out and held her hand. "But you've saved my life, I've saved yours. Kinda seems like we owe it to each other."

"If you wanna ask me Tim, you can whenever you think it's right," Stephanie said. "You'd have to screw up pretty major to change my answer."

Bruce was just departing from the cave when they arrived. "Another homicide up in the hills. The police don't know if it was Zsasz yet, I'm going to investigate."

Stephanie pulled on her insulated suit. "Is Cass doing okay?"

Bruce sighed and shook his head. "She took a fight with Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy too far. I'm almost ready to pull her off duty for a while, but it's everything we've got to maintain equilibrium right now."

Tim buckled his cape. "Have you thought about calling Dick in?"

"He's gone dark recently," Bruce said. "I'm giving it a few more days before I decide it's something serious. He can handle himself, but that also means he isn't always available to take our calls."

Stephanie lingered on her recent research of Cameron Gram and what his connection to the Lipov case could be. She wanted to voice her fear, but still knew the idea would sound absurd. Gram probably was just some jerk with a microphone on the radio, to suggest otherwise was just conspiracy.

Still, she couldn't stop herself. "Hey, have you ever heard anything from that guy on the radio Cassie keeps listening to?"

Bruce pulled on his cowl and took the keys to the Batmobile off his bench. "I've overheard a few things, but most of it has just sounded like angry nonsense."

It was too far to suggest a Gram and Lipov connection, but maybe Bruce would see something in the conversation from earlier. "I've listened to him at the same time as Cassie a couple times. I know it sounds weird, but maybe he's impacting her angry streak."

Tim sighed, but Bruce nodded. "I've considered the possibility."

Stephanie perked up. It was rare he seemed to approve of any of her suggestions.

"But that's a situation we need to handle delicately. If I tell her to stop listening, she might be in a place to argue with me. For the moment I'm not letting her out with Damian again and I'm going to give her a firm reminder what we're doing here. Small steps will hopefully bring the best results."

As Bruce pulled open the door to the Batmobile, the garbled static of a police line overtook the computer.

"Sounds like another kidnapping, just outside the Saint Juan Catholic Church."

Stephanie froze a moment before she looked toward the computer. "Saint Juan's?"

"That Spanish-service church on Blake," Bruce said. "Maybe those classmates of yours in the white van again."

"Damn it, we'll head them off!" Tim grabbed his keys. "Come on, Steph."

For a moment, she remained in place. In that moment, there came a second shred of validity to her proposition.

It still wasn't time to reveal the theory yet. But she was getting closer.


	33. Chapter 28

Cassandra rode alone toward her night's destination. On the back of one of the half-beaten choppers that Bruce said were the only ones available until some new parts arrived, she drove toward Gotham's Chinatown district. Despite her arguments and struggle, Bruce had ordered her to serve as Stephanie's backup almost as soon as Cassandra had left the cave. For once, someone was in the right place at the right time. After they had escaped twice unseen, Stephanie revealed she had found the Reapers, their big, white van and their newest target: any of the night vendors they could get their hands on.

Cassandra still didn't want to see Stephanie, let alone share the case with her. But Bruce gave the task of examining Stephanie's newest photos of the van to Tim as he mumbled that it looked to be similar, but not quite the same. Bruce himself remained in front of the Batcomputer with a map of the suburbs and four tiny splotches of red. His night would be spent on the Zsasz case.

Attempts to protest led Cassandra nowhere. Stephanie was already hard at work against their mutual foe and a kidnapping plot. None of Cassandra's opposition would be permitted. At least, she figured, the fight might lead to a rematch with the Odmience.

Angel always felt a strange love and hate for Gotham's Little Beijing. She found it dirty and many of the mysterious-looking shops put per off when she took assignments there. But she couldn't resist a love of the wafting food smells and derived a little happiness from the thought it was the one place in Gotham most were guaranteed to look like she did.

The thoughts passed her quickly as she came to a screeching stop outside the town's main, "gate," decorated like a pair of interlocked dragons. Red and blue lights flashed and bounced off the dingy buildings. A huge white van, far bigger than the one she'd seen in her last confrontation, possibly used to move furniture, was parked in the middle of the street. Between her and the van sat a police blockade, though every officer had ducked down. Why wasn't clear to her yet.

There was no use in waiting. Angel climbed off her motorcycle, drew her dulled katana, ran at the barricade and slid over the police cars. Only when she'd crossed the vehicles did a thunderous, concrete-shattering roar shake her feet. On the other side of the van, the battle was already underway.

Batgirl looked like a paper insect next to the enormous Jabberwocky. With each missed punch, he seemed to command the earth to quake. Though Batgirl was fast enough to out-maneuver him, the heaviness of her breaths suggested she was burning out, and the desperate smile said Angel hadn't arrived a moment too soon.

"Not so big without your armory, are you, bitch?" Jabberwocky stomped the ground and smashed a new pothole into the street.

Angel watched the fight between Batgirl and Jabberwocky a moment before she turned to the open trunk of the moving truck. Miranda stood within and watched the battle as intently as could be obvious with her whole body covered in armor. With an extended hand she held a barrier that trapped perhaps a dozen people behind a translucent layer of pink energy. Though their faces were blurry, Angel saw how some held themselves and wept and others pounded against the pink barrier in a desperate bid at freedom.

An attempted run closer was all the further Angel got. Jabberwocky grabbed one of her arms and threw her back into the street next to Batgirl. The crash into the ground made her head spin and hurt.

"Sorry, choir girl, boss can't have you getting too close." Jabberwocky stepped forward and cracked his fists against one another and several yellow lights along his armor glowed.

"I've been watching him," Batgirl said between deep breaths. "I don't know what's going on, but he keeps doing that thing. Maybe try to close in when he does?"

Angel nodded. Jabberwocky rushed them again. The two heroines were fast enough to out-maneuver the giant, but none of their counterattacks made him so much as flinch. Staff strikes to his back, the katana against his chest, even the batarangs to his head did nothing to faze him.

"Let me try putting a ring in _your_ head!" Jabberwocky got ahold of Batgirl's cape halfway through a dodge. A sinister smile crossed his uncovered face as he lifted Batgirl high as he could with one hand and thrust her into the ground with enough force to crack the road. Despite all of her own armor that shielded against the blow, Batgirl screamed in pain.

Jabberwocky raised his fist, intent on turning Batgirl's face into a bloody pool, when a grappling hook wrapped around his wrist. He didn't move despite Angel's pull and drew her closer with a yank. Forced to improvise, Angel bounded off the ground to pick of speed, bounced off the road and delivered a fly-kick into Jabberwocky's exposed mouth. The green giant staggered backwards in pain and struggled to keep standing straight. Somewhere behind her, Angel heard Miranda laugh in spite of herself.

"You gonna take all night?" She shouted next. "Just knock the two of them out and let's get the hell out of here!"

Jabberwocky clutched his then bloody mouth. "I'm gonna knock you out next!" He raised his fists and moved to smash the knuckles together again.

From just beyond Angel's periphery, another batarang flew and collided with one of his fists. The weapon erupted in a grayish green goo and when his fists came together a slimy splat took the place of the metallic noise they previously made.

"What the hell?!"

Angel turned, Batgirl was back on her feet and smirked in her direction. "Thanks for the distraction. The big baby's suit is meant to be self-sustaining, but he can't recharge his gloves if he can't smash their cores together."

"This is bull!" Jabberwocky roared. "I'm not getting beat by you, not again!"

The giant raised his foot and tried feebly to kick Batgirl and Angel when they rushed him, but he wasn't good with anything but his fists. The two delivered simultaneous punches to his face and struck at his chest until he collapsed backwards. Smirk on her face, Batgirl stepped forward, pulled the helmet from his head and unveiled an enraged Miles Henderson within

"Oooh, Red's gonna have a good time unencrypting another one of these," she said.

"You leave that alone!" Miles shouted. "When I get my hands on you—"

Miles' screams when interrupted by a blast of neon pink energy that slashed through the goo that contained his fists.

"I have to do everything around here, don't I?" As Miranda aimed the beam, Miles smashed his fists into the ground again, but she shouted, "Enough already. Let's get out of here!"

"I'm not done with blondie!"

"And you've still got captives!" Batgirl threw a batarang toward Miranda's open hand and trapped it in another eruption of goo.

"Damn it Miles, move!" Miranda put out her remaining hand to take hold of the doors to the back of the truck.

The disgraced Jabberwocky looked between the two heroines with a last snarl, bent down and leapt toward them. When Batgirl and Angel dodged his lunge, they realized too late they weren't the target. With a last beat of his fists, he smashed their two motorcycles into the pavement. Bits of metal, springs and handlebars flew all around him as he bent down, leapt over the moving van and began to similarly decimate the police blockade.

"No no no!" Batgirl threw batarangs toward the tires of the moving van. The sharp variety failed to puncture the masses of rubber and the ones full of artificial adhesive only held the van in place a moment before it escaped with a horrible screech. Batgirl and Angel stood alone in the center of Gotham Chinatown as the van disappeared from view in a terrible rush.

Cassandra stomped her foot. "Again. We lost them again."

Stephanie was about to say something, but paused at the sound of a strange buzz from the Jabberwocky helmet.

"—Dumbass got his helmet stolen, Richie. You gotta get it offline as fast as you can!"

"Relax, I already had the killswitch ready. It should be—"

The few words were overcome by static. As Cassandra muttered and mulled in words and body language, Stephanie continued to stare into the helmet and remembered what she had learned from Tim during their investigation of Figment's. She slipped off one of her gloves for better handling and carefully felt around the side. All she sought was a dial and a few buttons, and she eventually found them when she slipped open a compartment.

Cassandra didn't react when the static grew louder. She jumped in place and turned when the screech of death metal boomed from the helmet. But with the next button press, Stephanie found what she was looking for.

"Harden your hearts to temptation, my friends, for it waits beyond every corner. This has been Cameron Gram, God bless you."

Cassandra stared in confusion, first toward the helmet, then toward Stephanie, who held the helmet tight to the point that shakes ran down her arms.

"I knew it. You bastard, I knew it!"

Cassandra looked at her uneasily. "What was that?"

"These helmets pick up radio," Stephanie said. "Guess 107.7 is that guy's third favorite radio station."

It was as if the next night breeze froze Cassandra in place. "107.7?"

"Yeah," Stephanie said. "Your pal Gram had a hand in this mess. In all of these messes."

Cassandra double took in confusion a moment before she scowled. "What?"

"I was hoping to keep this back, but I've got all the proof I need now," Stephanie said. "I've been doing what you do. I've been listening to that psychopath on the radio. You wanna know what I learned? That every single time some group of people has been kidnapped by those Reaper jerks, Gram had a scathing rant about them less than forty-eight hours before."

As the two spoke, a small crowd of bystanders slowly stepped out of their shops to witness the exchange in the center of the street. The scowl on Cassandra's face moved with neither belief nor interest. "Lies."

Stephanie reached into her utility belt and pulled out her phone. "You want me to log into his stupid website and play the clips back for you? You wanna hear him rip on Muslims or Mexicans? Or maybe hearing about 'how the Chinese are a brutal, godless people' would hit close enough to home for you."

Cassandra took a step forward, tiny quakes of rage ran through her body. "Stop talking."

Stephanie flicked a button on her phone and pulled the time marker to the halfway point.

"China is the most 'successful' enforcer of communism in the modern world, and over half its population currently identify as atheist," the recording of Gram said. "China and its children have made themselves enemies of the will of the lord and their current way of life is an absolute mockery of morality."

Cassandra took another step. "Turn that off!"

"That's people in this town he's talking about, that's _you_ he's talking about!"

The two shared a stare for a moment before Cassandra took another step.

"You don't scare me." In spite of her words, Stephanie threw aside the helmet and clenched her fists. "You could break every bone in my body, but I don't believe you will for a moment."

Another step and a squint like a scan. Cassandra seemed to be measuring her up. "Think I can't?"

"I said won't," Stephanie said. "You wanna know why I know that?"

The distance was closed. Cassandra could land a punch, kick or a flurry of pressure-point strikes if she wanted to. She took a deep inhale. "Why?"

Stephanie shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath of her own. "Because before you got hurt you were the most kind and compassionate person I've ever known in my life. You came from wrong and made it right. You used that awful power you were given and made something good out of it. You've had more to overcome in the last seventeen years than most people have in a life time. You're a good person." She paused, half for breath, half to emphasize her last point. "And you don't need to follow the teachings of a raving lunatic on the radio to prove any of that!"

Cassandra held the position and the glare. Though she paused for almost a minute, her reply came. "I was impure."

"Oh why? Because you feel things for other women? Because you had one bad breakup with one girlfriend, your pain is God's way of punishing you?" Stephanie's anger and condescension mixed into the potent force that overtook her voice. "Maybe I should have boarded the gay train after my first break up with a boy. Except I shouldn't have because that's not how any of this works—"

Cassandra shoved her hard enough the knock her into the building behind. For just a moment, a twinge of fear seemed to overtake Stephanie's face.

'Got better!" Cassandra's shakes worsened, her look was hot as fire. When she spoke again it she reined in the volume but spoke with the same intensity. "Why can't you let me be happy?"

For a few seconds the question clung to Stephanie, but she didn't need to grasp for a response long. "I don't care who you feel anything for. I seriously don't care if you're gay or not. What nobody needs is you acting all superior for it!"

Cassandra shoved her again, the second time with enough force to knock Stephanie backwards onto the ground. The trembles overtook her whole body as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Gram is dedicated. Has given his life to God. Wants to help people. And you accuse him—"

"Gram's a bastard, and he's turned you into a complete bitch!"

The only shift in Cassandra was the way her mouth slipped open, as if in shock. Stephanie had a moment to consider the possible damage of the exclamation, but didn't take it back.

The Angel of the Bat said nothing, turned her back and drew her grappling hook. She didn't need a motorcycle to get away. The wind turned to a freezing rush and the lights of Chinatown blurred as Cassandra took to the skies.

Through a buzzing static, she heard Bruce's voice. "Angel? Angel where are you going? I've got my own investigation in the suburbs, don't—"

Cassandra flicked a switch and silenced him. She had heard enough for the night.


	34. Chapter 29

Cassandra stopped grappling when she finally passed into Gotham's suburbs. She stopped for a few breaths on the roof of an elementary school and sat against one of its heating vents. It was a chilly fall evening, her sweat would make the cold worse soon enough.

Some static filled one of her ears for a moment before Bruce's voice came in clear again. "Angel? Angel can you hear me? What have I told you about switching the audio off when it isn't necessary? I spoke with Batgirl, I know it isn't—"

Cassandra pulled the headset out of her ear and flicked it aside. There would be hell to pay from Bruce later for abandoning her assignment, ignoring him and damaging his equipment, but she gave it little thought. The feeling that welled up inside, though she had no name for it, had grown ever more familiar. Sadness with no tears, a pain in her stomach that had nothing to with food and goosebumps up her arms. The time her neck had been bitten and sucked on back in the movie theater by that girl she mentally refused to name was the first experience, and it had kept coming back to haunt her ever since.

She'd been merciful to the opponent whose sole reason to exist was to kill her. He didn't go through a change of heart. Her pity only earned her a broken leg, months of wasted time and an alliance that was kidnapping people all over the city.

What did Stephanie know about what she was going through? She'd cast off her purity before the two had ever even met, and she'd dragged Tim down with her. The girl from before didn't respect what Cassandra wanted or needed. The church, the lord was waiting for her when she came to terms with her failures. Gram assured her of the better way to live her life. Monsignor Ryan said she had done the right thing. Her sins had been cleansed, it was her duty to ensure she not allow herself to be tempted again.

Cassandra glanced at the headset. There was a tracker within, she knew it. There were probably more on her body somewhere, but at least that one was out of the way. Bruce or Stephanie would probably catch up with her, given some more time. She rose from where she sat and returned to the streets.

Wherever she could grapple, she did, but most of her movements were by foot. The earlier fight and the stress of the argument took their toll. Cassandra was tired, but she didn't want to go home where Bruce would demand what had come over her, just like Stephanie had. Two miles from the school there was a tiny, family-owned convenience store. It was closed for the evening, but maybe there would be another heater on the roof.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, but she'd spent most of her life sleeping outdoors and scrounging for any protection she could find. One more night that way wouldn't mean much and it was better than the alternative.

Cassandra pulled her legs close to her body for warmth. There were hundreds of reasons falling asleep in public in her uniform was a terrible idea. She didn't care about any of them. She shut her eyes and quickly nodded off.

"Mau. Maaaau. Mroooooow."

Somehow, Cassandra knew she shouldn't have been able to hear the sound, but she did. She rose slowly, the position seemed like it took its toll on her bones and muscles. At the edge of the rooftop Cassandra looked toward the ground. She didn't know what time it was, but the night was very dark. The tiny creature that woke her, a white and gray cat, stood out in the shadow of the store.

Cassandra sighed and stepped back toward the heater before the cat began to whine again. She almost ignored it, but as the animal continued to yowl, she sighed and decided if it had woken her once, it might do so again.

She looked down from the rooftop and motioned with her hand. "Go."

"Mrow."

"Shoo."

"Mau. Mrow. Maaaaaau."

Cassandra took a deep inhale and sigh as she slowly descended the rooftop and approached the white and gray cat. With one step too close she recoiled.

"What?"

The shadows had hidden the animal's condition. One of its back thighs looked to be stained red with fresh blood, and as she approached it leaned backwards and licked a messy stump where a tail had once been. As she approached it, the cat ran from her, clearly disoriented by its leg injury and lack of tail, but fast nonetheless. It stopped a few yards away and Cassandra reached into her belt for something to wrap up the bleeding with. As she approached the cat again with a roll of bandages, it gain bounded off, but stopped before it was out of view. Cassandra frowned, but the possibility reached her after a few seconds. It seemed as if the cat wanted her to follow it.

She picked up the pace and followed the wounded animal as it struggled to stay on a straight path and occasionally yowled to ensure it still had her attention. As she followed, she soon took note of the little darkened spots on the sidewalk. The cat had bled for some time, and seemed to have walked to the convenience store in search of help. But it seemed totally disinterested in help for itself. It was leading her.

After two blocks the cat struggled for a few steps and slipped over, still disoriented by its missing tail. Cassandra caught up with it as the gray, white and red little creature pushed back up.

"Let me see." Cassandra tried to hold the cat, but it yowled and struggled in protest. "Please," she said. "Hurt. Let me help."

Despite the cat's very vocal protests, it did not try to bite or scratch her, even as she wrapped up its injured leg. All the cat cared about was continuing to move and that Cassandra was following close behind. The cat led her three blocks, stopped in front of a two story house and yowled again and again in its direction.

Cassandra looked back and forth between the house and the cat and tried to figure what it wanted. Maybe the cat lived there and wanted to get back inside. But that didn't explain its injuries or the blood. Maybe the people inside were the ones who attacked it. But it seemed very bizarre the cat would lead her back. Was it expecting her to take revenge for it? As she squinted, she noticed something strange. The large, wooden front door of the house was clearly open on the inside, the screen door was all that was between the street and the house. She didn't know what it meant, it ordinarily wouldn't be worth investigation, she didn't want to invade anyone's house. But something about the cat and its injury compelled her. In her gut, she felt something was very, very wrong.

The cat remained outside as she pushed open the screen door and slipped inside. The house was barely illuminated, lit only by a television one room over, the moonlight that showed through the windows and a tiny glow from a room on the second floor. From the room next to her there came a faint but audible buzz.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Angel almost ran when she recognized someone on a recliner in the room next to her. But she paused at the buzzing noise, which he realized came from the television, which held on dark static. Angel stepped closer, cringed as she inhaled and had to swallow her rising gorge. The person seated was a heavyset woman with dark skin, her curly hair covered her downturned face. The source of the smell had to be the thick, dark liquid that seeped down her neck into her clothing. Angel looked toward the couch, a lighter-skinned man sat in a similar position, with his head leaned against the back of his seat, his beard partially covered his slit throat.

Angel turned toward the tiny light on the second floor. She didn't know if the killer was still in the house, but given his crazed nature, he may have been waiting for her. The TV was switched off and she ascended the staircase. In the silence, inhalation and exhalation was faintly audible. The demon waited in the room with the light, Angel was sure of it. She sidled against the wall on the opposite side of the opening and inched toward the room. Angel would not face him until she knew he had no means of escape.

As she crept toward the room, features became distinguishable. A huge, stuffed rabbit sat in one corner. Next to it was a small bookcase. The tiny glow seemed to shine from a child's nightlight somewhere on the opposite side of the room. Most importantly, there didn't appear to be any windows to escape through.

Angel stood against the door. Her heart still raced as she slid against the door. With all of her control, she slid just one eye inside. He was only very faintly illuminated, but the yellow of the night light made the blood on his hands and shirt almost twinkle. Behind him were a pile of blankets over a mound. Angel couldn't see if it was breathing or not.

"I see you."

Angel froze. Tiny strands of blonde hair poked through his shaved head. His body was covered in scars, tiny vertical and diagonal marks, dozens of them. He stared at her with his sunken eyes as she had gazed into the room with. Victor Zsasz raised a hand and curled a finger.

"Come in." Zsasz's voice was somehow both gentle and empty at the same time. "Quiet now." On his unilluminated side, he raised a bloodied knife and pointed it toward the mound of blankets. "Don't wake the girl, she only just fell asleep. I wouldn't want to send her back."

Though she hadn't made up her mind, Angel slowly pushed open the door. The two came face to face and a smile spread across Zsasz's mouth.

"Oh, it's you. I'm very glad it's you. I heard talk you're a Catholic, is that true, little Angel?"

She said nothing.

"I wanted to settle a question. With myself, really. But I need to know for sure before I ask it."

Angel stared at the knife and the mound behind Zsasz. His eyes remained fixed on her, for the moment, any sneaky tactic seemed out of the question.

"I can tell," Zsasz said. "Oh yes, I can tell." He paused and cleared his throat. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with—"

Angel fought back the shout as much as she was able. "Quiet!"

"I knew it." Zsasz giggled a little. "I knew it. Only a good Catholic girl would know to be so disgusted. Who's your patron saint, girl?"

"… What do you want?"

"I want to know your saint," Zsasz said. "Would you like to know mine?"

Angel clenched her fists.

"George, that dragon slayer from Old England. Slayed a monster with only a lance and the will of God." Zsasz paused a moment, as if lost in his memories. "I'd play Saint George when I was alone. The children in the fifth grade class kept an iguana as a pet. He was almost as big as I was then. I decided he could play the part of my dragon."

Angel began to shake. It took all of her force to keep her in place. She wanted to silence his crazed babble, but he was still too close to the girl under the covers. One wrong move and he would kill her. Patience was what mattered most.

"Do they still teach that the unbaptized go to Hell, little angel?" Zsasz looked down at the mound under the blankets. "I can't tell what these people believed in. Do you think that's a sign? A holy family would be proud, wouldn't they? So I guess they weren't."

The room went silent from Angel's perspective, save for Zsasz and the pounds of her heart against her chest.

"Maybe they repented just as they were dying. That's what I'm going to do." Zsasz slowly lifted the blade toward his face, as if took at his reflection. "I always thought God led me here, but if he didn't, at least there's always an easy fix. At least—"

A batarang flew. Zsasz shouted, opened his hand and the knife fell out of his hand. Angel closed the distance between them, took hold of one of Zsasz's arms and flipped him off the bed. The killer hit the ground with a crash and groaned. Angel tore the blankets off the mound.

Then she recoiled in horror.

"I told her to be quiet." Zsasz pushed back to his feet. "She was too loud. I didn't want to cut her, she wouldn't have stopped."

Her hair looked like it had been recently braided, she'd fallen asleep in a pink shirt decorated with multicolored ponies. The little girl, no older than maybe eight, laid cross eyed, lips slightly open. Even with only the faint glow of the night light, Angel could see they weren't the right color.

"It didn't take long. The little thing tired out very quickly."

Angel ripped off a glove and pressed her hand the child's neck. She felt nothing. Angel leaned down and put an ear to the child's chest. She heard nothing.

"I remember now," Zsasz said. "I had a question for you. I just thought the mother was a fat person. But now I think she was actually pregnant."

The shakes through Angel's body turned to shudders. She turned very slowly to face Zsasz. She knew what she intended to do, her body just hadn't caught up with her mind yet.

"That's four tally marks instead of three, wouldn't you agree?"

From Zsasz's perspective, Angel moved like a white blur. The first hook smashed into him with enough force it felt like every tooth his mouth rattled. Zsasz fell backwards into the threshold of the girl's room. He expected another strike, but wasn't prepared for it when Angel kicked him in the face as he began to push up again. Unable to rise, Zsasz scrambled backward like a crab.

"No."

It was all Angel could say.

As Zsasz tried to retreat into the darkness, Angel grabbed him by his shoulders, forced him upward and threw him into the opposite wall. For a moment Zsasz saw tiny silver lights. The next punch busted his nose wide open. The one after that knocked out two his teeth. Another forced them down his throat. Even after his years against Gotham's finest, Zsasz could sense something was different. Angel threw him to the ground and flung kicks from his stomach to his face. When he rolled over to his back, she jumped and stomped on his chest. For the first time, Zsasz screeched in agony. Bits of his sternum splintered, the killer threw up his head and threw up blood.

Zsasz was defeated. He'd been defeated minutes before. Angel bent down, grabbed him by his throat and dragged him toward the staircase. He turned as best he was able, saw the faint light that shown through the screen door and tried to grab and scratch at her arms. Zsasz shouted in bloody nonsense to beg for mercy, but Angel gave it no consideration. She gripped him with both hands and threw him down the staircase.

His body tumbled downward, bones within his arms and legs cracked as Zsasz rolled down, his head faced the screen upon final impact. His skull rattled in his brain. As he struggled to retain focus over his concussion, he gazed out the window. The gray and white cat whose tail he'd cut glared at him through the screen and hissed. When Angel descended upon him, Zsasz couldn't even remember what has happened.

Something within Angel said she had done enough. That she was only supposed to bring Zsasz in and ensure he was put away. She ignored it and laid both hands on Zsasz's throat.

The feeling was familiar, even if she didn't know why. Angel yanked Zsasz off the floor by the neck and throttled him. For a few seconds, he struggled and tried to push her off. It didn't take long for his arms to fall to his side. Something tried to push up Zsasz's throat, but Angel gripped it too tight for it to slip through. Even with the limited light, she could see his face begin to change color.

"Angel!"

She looked up very slowly. Batgirl opened the screen door and stood just before her.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Angel glared for a moment, then looked back toward Zsasz.

"Are you choking him?" Batgirl rushed in and grabbed her shoulders. "Cut it out! He can't breathe!"

Angel's voice broke as if her rage and heartbreak melded together. "Neither could she!"

Batgirl took ahold Angel from behind and pulled. "Angel stop! You don't want this—"

"Need it!" Angel screamed. "He deserves it!"

"Cassie, stop it!" Batgirl pulled hard enough to force Angel to relinquish her grip.

The fury overtook her. Angel twisted around and thrust her palm into Batgirl's face. She screamed and grabbed her nose as blood seeped through her fingers. Angel attacked Zsasz with an ascended rage. She curled her fingers around his throat and clenched as hard as she could. Angel didn't feel it when she crushed his larynx.

She sensed nothing when she jerked his head back and forth.

She didn't even hear the _crack_.

But the moment came. All of Zsasz's struggles ceased. She stopped strangling a man, she wasn't even holding a killer. In one moment, her rage and hate burned out. She felt what the corpse felt. She felt nothing.

Every muscle in Angel's body loosened. Her mouth slipped open and its shakes were the only part of her body that moved. Darkness consumed her. When it returned, she was a child. Her hands, her pink dress, everything was covered in blood. Every goosebump on her body stood up, but she still couldn't feel a thing.

Angel retuned to reality when Batgirl yanked her off again. As soon as her mind returned to her, she collapsed. It took Batgirl a moment to realize what was happening, but after a few seconds of weeping, Angel screamed and fell against her.

Cassandra cried into Stephanie's chest. When Stephanie saw her body had gone slack, she held her as she wept and brushed against her head. Blood wet Stephanie's hands and face, but neither acknowledged it.

"God." Cassandra choked on a breath and struggled to speak. "I… I didn't… I didn't mean to."

Stephanie could think of nothing to say. She couldn't even imagine anything. So she just held her friend tight. It was all she could think to do.


	35. Chapter 30

Stephanie didn't try to initiate conversation during their return to Wayne Manor. She said a few words to Bruce via communicator in the small, beat up tumbler he'd sent, but Cassandra didn't catch what they were. She wasn't listening to anything. All the world had gone hollow.

When the two stepped out of the vehicle and into the Batcave, Bruce turn to acknowledge them. He just said, "Stephanie, come over here. Cassandra, go to bed."

It was almost nice to follow orders. Cassandra didn't feel like making any decisions of her own.

When she arrived in her bedroom, Cassandra looked around for a minute, as if it had become foreign to her. The bed was all made, the Bible Monsignor Ryan gave sat on her dresser. She almost lied under the covers, but diverted herself for a moment and unplugged the radio. She didn't wish to be tempted by anything that would keep her awake.

An hour later Cassandra hadn't slept a wink and there was a gentle knock on the door.

"Cassie?" Stephanie said. Her voice was a little nasally due to the splint wrapped around her nose. "Are you still awake?"

Cassandra said nothing.

"I know how upset you must be.… I… I can't imagine how you must feel right now. If I'd known it would have led to anything like this I never would have said anything." Stephanie breathed a deep exhale and leaned her head against the door. "I'm sorry. For whatever part I played in this, I'm so sorry. I promise I'll leave you alone. I promise I'll stop trying to fix you. I don't even—"

Stephanie almost fell inward as Cassandra opened the door and wrapped her arms around her again. She still wouldn't look Stephanie in the eye, but the hug was tight. Stephanie needed a moment to adjust, but quickly mimicked the action.

"… Don't even what?" Cassandra spoke quiet enough to whisper.

Stephanie took another deep breath. "Keep being your friend. If you don't want me to."

Cassandra's grip tightened and she clenched her fingers almost as if she was clawing. "Don't. Please. Sorry I made you feel that way."

"Okay," Stephanie said. "Then I'm not going anywhere." The two stood in silence for a minute as Stephanie slowly started to sway back and forth, as if she was calming a crying child. "I don't know what you're looking for, but I hope you can find it."

There was a lean as Cassandra slipped closer. "Me." It was little more than a mumble. "Lost me. Trying to find me."

Even if she didn't entirely understand, Stephanie nodded. "But all this because of a girl—"

"No," Cassandra said. "Odmience attack me. Gram hate me. Everything I tried failed."

Stephanie sighed. "I'm sorry. All I know is the relationship stuff. I was focusing too hard on it, I guess. You really do have a lot of reasons to be upset right now."

"Made everything worse," Cassandra said. "Didn't want to anymore."

As Stephanie pat her shoulder with one hand, she raised her chin with the other and looked her in the eye. "Screwing up doesn't make you a screw up and sometimes not every good choice gets a good outcome. I wish I could tell you otherwise but I can't." With one of her hands, she gripped Cassandra's shoulder. "But we keep doing them because the right thing is still the right thing. You wanna find yourself again? My best friend was raised to hurt people, but she decided to help everyone she could instead. She turned a childhood of stuff worse than I could have ever imagined into her strength. And she believed in people, no matter how hard they made it on her. And you did all that a long time before you'd said a single prayer or listened to a single thing on the radio."

Cassandra shut her eyes tight, as if she braced for impact. "I don't want to hurt anymore."

"Is it working? Are you not getting hurt right now?"

Cassandra soon returned to bed. In the early afternoon she was summoned to Bruce's study, where he stood just in front of the one bookcase that concealed the passage to the caverns below. He gripped his temple and paced back and forth among the books and busts as Cassandra sat on the parlor couch in front of him.

"Am I… done?"

Bruce released the grip on his forehead and looked toward another bookcase. "I don't know. By standard protocol, you should be. We have rules here—"

"My rule." Cassandra clenched a fist. "Before I knew you."

"That doesn't make it any better," Bruce said. "If anything it makes it worse." His hands slipped into his pockets a moment as his look slowly formed into a glare. A glare he still could not direct toward his daughter. "I need to know something."

Cassandra nodded. Somehow, Bruce appeared to notice.

"Stephanie told me you said you weren't trying to kill Zsasz. Considering all of the wounds inflicted on him and the nature of the death blow, I find that very hard to believe." At last, at least half of his glare moved toward Cassandra. "I need to know. Did you try to kill him or not?"

Cassandra gripped her wrist and looked down. "I don't know. Really don't."

"That's a very serious problem then," Bruce said. "Of all of us, you have to know. I've let you out in the streets for years now with the understanding that you always knew. And before last night, you never gave me a reason to think otherwise."

With her breaths deep and arms almost wrapped around herself, Cassandra remembered the feelings of the moment. "They did nothing… just people. Killed all four of them."

Bruce's anger momentarily shifted to confusion. "The police said there were only three victims in the house."

"Mother was pregnant," Cassandra said. "Four."

Bruce accepted the words with a nod. "All right. Four then."

"Was afraid." Tiny shakes again ran through Cassandra's body. "Afraid he'd do it again. Get away like they always do… couldn't let him."

"No one in the police is going to pursue any action against you. Everyone's already accepted you acted in self-defense, even though it's very obvious you could have defused the situation long before you finished him off.

Again, Cassandra asked, "Am I done?"

"You're at least going on leave for a while," Bruce said. "If need be, we'll have to evaluate you after that to determine if you're still able to do what is needed. Or we might all decide it's too difficult to continue like this."

Cassandra fought back tears as she looked down. "Just wanted what was right."

"Cassandra, we all want what's best for you." Bruce turned to face her. "If you can't know for sure what you're trying to do when you're trying to do it, I can't let you back in the uniform. If you need to believe what that man on the radio says I can't stop you, but I will not supply you with the tools to carry it out either. Those are decisions you need to make yourself." Bruce paused with the thought she might respond, but she didn't say anything. "Considering someone is still trying to kill you and kidnapping Gothamites as some part of his scheme, it doesn't make sense to keep you here for the time being. I know this is a lot, but we need you somewhere else for a while."

Some part of Cassandra knew she should have been angry with him for that. She was already in enough pain, and she almost felt worse knowing her father was trying to shoo her away. But then a thought crossed her mind. She remembered what felt like the one bridge she hadn't burned recently.

"Star," she said. "I go to Star City?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Is that a suggestion? I wouldn't allow you to take the uniform."

"Want to see Connor," Cassandra said. "Be with a friend."

Bruce raised a hand to his chin and glanced downward. "I hadn't finalized where you would go yet. Ollie will have more room available than Clark and Lois… I'll get ahold of him and get back to you on that."

Calls were made, arrangements were set. Within three days, Cassandra was finishing the last of her packing for her temporary disappearance in Star City.


	36. Chapter 31

It was a six-and-a-half hour flight from east coast to west. Between the nights spent at home and being cooped up in one of Bruce's private jet so long, Cassandra felt like her bones were turning to dust. She swore she'd make it a point to walk whenever possible while she was away and spar if a willing participant was available. It was all she could hope for, she was strictly forbidden from bringing her uniform in her suitcase.

Connor was there waiting just past the gate that surrounded the landing strip. The recent events left Cassandra so exhausted, she thought me might fall asleep as soon as he wrapped his arms around her. "Hey," she said. "Missed you."

"You too," Connor said. They remained still for a moment. When a breeze passed they both shuddered just a little. California was always warmer than Gotham, but fall was still fall. "Let me get your luggage." Connor released her, rolled it around to the back of the Prius and popped the trunk. "You look tired. Should we save the sight-seeing for another day?"

"No," Cassandra said. "Not that tired. Want to see."

"All right," Connor shut the trunk. "I'm feeling hungry, so I guess food is the first priority. I know a little place around here, you like Chinese?"

Cassandra broke into a tiny laugh.

"Don't assume it's obvious," Connor said. "Dinah loves Thai food a lot more than I do."

Star City appeared to be the kind of place Gotham had always struggled to become. Artisan shops lined both sides of the street, people covered the sidewalk but no one seemed to be in a hurry and every the air smelled cleaned than it should have with all the cars on the street. Gotham could never look so pleasant.

The two sat quietly as Connor seemed to pass an unseen threshold into the city proper. He drove them down steep hills that felt like roller coaster drops and past dozens of interconnected townhouses. In spite of herself, Cassandra leaned back in the chair and shut her eyes.

Connor took a deep breath before he spoke again. "Listen, I don't know… everything, about what's gone on since I left. Bruce told my dad some things, most of what I know I learned second hand from him. If there's anything you need to talk with me about, please don't be afraid to do so."

A small smile crept across Cassandra's face. "Thank you."

The hills only evened out when Connor neared sea level. Waves from the Pacific Ocean beat against the sand and the beachgoers were audible even with the windows rolled up. Connor turned into a small restaurant across from the beach identified by a string of writing in Mandarin and the name, "DONG BEI." Cassandra followed him inside. A few couples, two lone diners and one family sat dispersed around the restaurant. A heavyset clerk across the room looked up when the bell attached to the door rang and she flashed a big smile.

"Connor!" Though her accent was on the wrong syllables, her enthusiasm was genuine. "Welcome, sit."

"Well, if you doubted I was a regular, Jade just proved it." Connor sat down in a booth near the entrance, Cassandra was quick to follow.

Little paper lanterns hung down from the ceiling over every table and the walls were covered in paintings of animal-people plowing or harvesting fields. It seemed to Cassandra at the very least a bit more authentic than the tea house she and Stephanie fought in.

The woman from across the restaurant, Jade, set down a pair of teacups, bags and a kettle of hot water on the table. She only brought one menu, which she handed to Cassandra.

"I order the same thing every time I come in." Connor turned to their server. "But don't get it started until she orders." The way he pointed and held his hand straight but flat and the server's nod suggested she understood the request, if not the words.

Cassandra scanned the menu. "What do you like?"

"Green curry sauce and noodles. But I don't eat meat," Connor said.

Cassandra nodded and scanned the menu. The English writing was limited compared to the lines upon lines of Mandarin, but there were lots of pictures and she understood enough of what each described. When a few minutes had passed Cassandra pointed to a roasted pork and rice dish with relative confidence at what she was ordering and the server nodded as if she understood. None of the conversations of the rest of the building reached them, they felt almost as if they were alone.

Connor didn't say much, but he did watch Cassandra carefully with every sip of tea she drank. In another individual it might have seemed off-putting, but Connor had always been considerate more than anything else. He understood Cassandra spoke little, had recently come off a long flight and was struggling with thoughts in the back of her head. He didn't wish to burden her with a request she choose words for conversation.

A memory stuck out in Cassandra's mind, though she didn't know why. It was the thought of a coffee shop in Gotham, much simpler and noisier than the one they sat in. It was one of many memories she'd tried to suppress, but it came in clear.

It was a few weeks into January, just days before her birthday. The Seraphim had finally been defeated, Gotham was on its way back to a lull of relative peace. After much contemplation and a push from Bruce, Cassandra dialed a phone number on a too well preserved paper towel from the hospital. Cassandra didn't even like coffee but agreed to go to the first café that was mentioned. The food and drink wouldn't matter, she just wanted to catch up.

That dining partner was far more talkative than Connor, but Cassandra didn't mind. She didn't even care that she could only understand perhaps half of what was said to her. The memory wasn't so much bad as tainted, and that meant it was worth avoiding.

Despite all her efforts Cassandra did find one thing said meaningful. She tested it on her tongue over and over again but she couldn't make it come out. Connor's expressions were hard to read, she wasn't sure she could sense if he knew she was struggling inside her head or not. The minutes ticked by as they sat in silence. Cassandra insisted to herself she should just say it. Exactly the way it had been said to her. She just had to swallow her nerve and say it.

"So, is this a date—"

"There you go." Jade returned right as the words slipped out of Cassandra's mouth and set their two plates in front of them."

Connor lowered his head to her. "Xie xie nin," he said. He looked to Cassandra as the waitress walked away. "Sorry, what did you say? I didn't catch that."

Cassandra did everything she could to keep the blood from rushing to her cheeks as she turned her attention toward the meat and rice. "Nothing." She would be in Star City for the foreseeable future, there was no need to rush the question.

Connor didn't press the matter. Cassandra clasped her hands and said a short grace before she dug in. Both ate their lunch in mostly undisturbed silence and Cassandra agreed with Connor's endorsement of the restaurant. When their bowls were clean, Jade quickly whisked them away and present Connor with the bill and a pair of fortune cookies.

Connor cracked open his own after he handed over a credit card. He studied it a few seconds before he muttered, "'You are an inspiration to those around you.' That is a statement, not a fortune."

"But a compliment." Cassandra broke open her own.

"Still isn't a fortune. You want me to read that for you? Just in case?"

Cassandra passed it to him, more to honor the offer than her own fear of inability.

"'Live a little, have some desert.' That's advice, it isn't a fortune either. And isn't the cookie itself supposed to be desert?"

Cassandra laughed. Though she wasn't sure she totally understood, it felt like Connor had earned it.

"But we can follow it anyway. There's another place I like a couple blocks from here. You okay to walk?"

"Dying to."

The two soon rose from their little restaurant booth and worked their way up a gradual incline up the sidewalk behind the Chinese restaurant. Cassandra was slowed by the meal she'd eaten and the long hours of travel, but Connor adjusted his pace to stay near her.

A few times Cassandra considered taking a step closer and just bumping her hand against his own. Just to see if he would react. But after the interruption at lunch, she was too afraid to try. For the moment, it seemed better to just focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

At the end of a short trek, just at the top of one of the small hills, a Ghirardelli chocolate shop came into view. By the way Connor's pace picked up, it was clear that was the place he was talking about.

The Ghirardelli shop was a far cry from the calm and quiet at Dong Bei's. From Connor's first move inside Cassandra picked up lots of talk between parents and children. The smell of chocolate seemed almost baked into the walls, which were covered all over with advertisements and statements about the newest candy on the shelves. At the center of the store was a counter, behind which stood a tall, busty Latina woman, maybe in her twenties or thirties, flanked on both sides by freezers filled with scoopable ice cream.

She too beamed as Connor approached. "Well look who it is." Her voice was a little gruff, but warm nonetheless. "How're you today? Did you come for the usual?"

"Only if you don't have another flavor that's both chocolatey and vegan." Connor and the woman both laughed before he raised a hand toward Cassandra. "I'm entertaining a friend from out of state, so please be on your best behavior."

"Oh please. You tip me too well here to do anything less."

A chuckle escaped Connor as he ushered Cassandra forward. "This is my friend, Cassandra. Cassandra, his is Lupe, she's my favorite server out here."

Cassandra tried to match the enthusiastic smile on Lupe's face. "Hello."

"Well hi there, Cassandra." Lupe raised her arms and referred to the freezers at her sides. "You let me know if you want to sample anything. I'll make you cones, sundaes, malts, whatever you want. And let me know if you want a taste of anything first, we've got sample spoons. And don't take any of Connor's recommendations. You don't get a figure like mine by giving up dairy products."

Connor burst out in a laugh and Cassandra gave her a giggle. There was still so much on her mind, so many thoughts she was forcing below the surface. But there, in her first afternoon in Star City, she felt more at ease than she had in months.

Maybe things would work themselves out after all.


	37. Batgirl- Issue 3

As with most nights, a lone figure dressed in black leather stepped out of the 107.7: WWJD studio a little after eleven PM. His sermons had worn on his throat particularly that day. A guest minister from Central City would be handing the bulk of the work the next day, so at least he'd have some time to catch his breath. Cameron Gram was tired, it was time to get home to Joanne and get to bed early so he could help with the kids in the morning.

Gram had never been especially wary of his surroundings. Perhaps if his senses were better, he would have noticed the figure who covered half of the "J" in his studio's neon sign. But his mind was too full for such distractions, mostly about entitled high school children and how they wouldn't be so impudent if Christ hadn't been pulled from their educations.

His fingers were on the handle to open his car door when something whirled out of the sky and _clanged_ against the side of his vehicle. Gram got only a moment to ponder it before a green substance erupted from within and sealed him in place. The radio preached shouted and pulled against the green goo as the figure on the rooftop descended.

"Great sermon today, as always," the figure said. "Sorry, you don't understand subtlety, so you probably wouldn't get sarcasm either."

After the initial shock and fear passed, Gram's expression formed into a snarl. "What's this supposed to be? And here I thought you were the other one."

Batgirl stepped into view, the bright purples of her uniform and the blonde of her hair became clear. "No, but it'd be a lot of fun to see her take a crack at you."

"You do realize you're detaining me illegally, don't you?" Any fear in Gram's voice had dissipated into a mellow rage. Whether he genuinely wasn't afraid or masked it extremely well, Batgirl was not sure. "What are you here for? To tell me to quit dragging your boss through the mud? Because you're not helping your case."

"My dad was a C-rank criminal that Batman beat the snot out of on a regular basis. You couldn't hate him half as much as my old man did."

"Well, you'd better give me something to get this gunk off my hands and my car before you end up in a cell near his." After some struggle, Gram slid a phone out from pocket and prepared to dial. "You're just a kid, I can tell. Don't do something you're going to spend decades regretting."

"As much as I'd like to pound you for talking about my dad—something I'm totally allowed to do, but you aren't—I have a much more pressing concern."

Batgirl stepped forward and for just a moment Gram shrunk against the car in fear. Faster than he could stop, she grabbed the cell phone out of his hand and, thanks to his preemptive unlock, started to flip through his recent calls.

"And they call me the fascist!" Gram tugged harder against the glue. "What in the world are you looking for?"

"I know who you really are," Batgirl said. "I'm just giving you a chance to confess it to me before I turn the case over to the guys with the badges."

"You're out of your mind," Gram said. "I don't know what you're prattling on about, but apparently you know something about me I don't, so why don't you enlighten me if you're so wise?"

"Victor Lipov." She enunciated every syllable. "And the Reapers. And HIVE. Or whoever you were working for first."

Gram's mouth slid open and he stood silently for a moment before he demanded, "What?"

"I'm on to you. I know you're—"

"What do those words even mean!?"

Batgirl paused. She'd hoped the exclamation had come from being found out, not confusion. After a second she resumed with her previous energy. "You know good and well who the Reapers are. You did a whole piece on your stupid show about how colleges were making kids liberal and that's why they were criminals."

"I'm on the air five days a week. Why don't I ask you who you were punching weeks ago?"

Batgirl clenched her fists. She didn't exactly expect it to be an easy interrogation, but she'd hoped Gram would crumble as soon as she confronted him. She wasn't sure if he was ridiculously bold or her blonde-haired, 5 foot 10 frame simply wasn't intimidating enough, however hard she tried.

 _Whatever_ , she thought. _I can be stubborn too_.

"I guess you just believe it's a coincidence that every single time you throw one of your little temper tantrums, the Reapers pick a new target," Batgirl said. "I've listened to the sermons on your website. You say something stupid about Muslims, they attack a mosque. You talk about gay people, they target a nightclub—"

"How _dare_ you!" Gram's voice almost cracked and his face twisted with rage. "You—You—You insolent child! Typical, maybe, but still brazen! I never once told my listeners to act in violence, I told them to act against it! I do remember those children now, so tell me, have you cornered and interrogated the people who built those suits of armor they're wearing?"

Batgirl said nothing, but the shakes of anger still moved through her body.

"Have you tried seeking the actual root of the problem? Of course not, you've decided to scapegoat it upon God's people!"

"I'm a Methodist!" It was almost a scream and it came when she could hear no more. "I'm not blaming religious people, you freaking narcissist, I'm blaming you! There's over two dozen people missing right now, all of the attacks in relation to stupid things you keep saying on the radio. Even if you aren't working for Lipov, are you telling me you don't feel a shred of blame for that?"

"My conscience is clear." Gram sounded like he almost spat the words. "Take it up with the true wrongdoers, I came to this city to save people."

Across the parking lot there came a _lurch_ and a shout of, "What's going on out there?" from a security guard.

"Jackson! Jackson thank goodness!" Gram waved his free hand as he shouted. "Come quickly, I'm under attack!"

Batgirl scowled in the guard's direction and muttered, "Crap." She turned back to Gram, took ahold of his jacket and thrust him against the car. "Listen to me." Despite Gram's shouts, she was sure he still heard her. "I know you're part of this. And the second I can prove it I'm taking you down."

"Hurry! The bat's sent a violent protestor—"

Batgirl pulled him back and shoved him into the car again. "Shut up!" When he had stopped for just a moment, she spoke again. "My best friend is a better Christian than you're ever going to be, and you dragged her through the mud. I promise you right now, even if God forgives you for that, I never will."

The thought of a single punch to his jaw crossed her mind, just as a last taste of catharsis. But the security guard was already rushing toward them and commanded her to freeze. Bruce would soon learn of the excursion and she had no confession to present to him. She'd be chewed out for her impulsiveness again, and she was still trying to recover his graces after the Bunker incident. A fight with a totally unrelated security guard who was just doing his job wasn't going to make things any better.

Her bike was parked just out of sight. She reached it and escaped into the night before security had even reached Gram.

The next morning, between her Bio 101 and Rhetoric, Stephanie briefly paused at a gaggle of other students who stood around the TV in her dorm's communal space. She peered past the assembly and only gave it a momentary thought. Usually it was only something Batman related that got so much attention.

"If not for the brave work of the building's security force, who knows what more she would have done to me."

Stephanie froze. The speaker was obvious. There he was, being interviewed for the morning news.

"I want all of the citizens of Gotham to know that the Batman and those in his employee came for me last night, but they could very well come for you tomorrow. The time has come to demand our rights back, we can no longer be made to live in fear. If the Bat and his underlings want to play God, I know someone who will take serious, personal offence to their actions!"

Within seconds Stephanie's cellphone buzzed to indicate she'd received a text message. Her heart sank when she confirmed it was exactly who she feared.

BRUCE: Watching the news on Channel 13. Come to the manor as soon as you're off for the day. _We need to talk._

For all the trouble the ordeal had turned out to be and how empty her hands were, Stephanie deeply regretted not getting that punch in.

[[Author's Note: We're coming up on _Angel_ 's fourth anniversary here very soon. Sadly at this point I don't think I'll be finishing this story within the two-year mark as I'd hoped. But I've gotten a lot more writing time on my hands recently thanks to my new job, so hopefully the pieces are in place for me to move into the endgame. This arc will hopefully end on the anniversary, leaving only what I'm envisioning as a relatively short climactic arc to follow. Hopefully the surprises on the way there will only be good ones.]]


	38. Chapter 32

[[An author's note to the attentive:

You may have caught that way back in Chapter 14, I stated the only women in the Arrow family were Black Canary and Lian Harper. I'm not hugely familiar with Green Arrow's supporting cast, so I obviously missed someone rather obvious. Chapter 14 will be edited to make up for this shortly.]]

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. On the one hand Oliver Queen's residence was a far cry from Wayne Manor. Ollie's interior decorating was done with enormous floor-to-ceiling windows in many of the rooms along the outside of his house that let in lots of sunlight. Early in the morning Cassandra saw workers park in his lot and spend hours tending the many trees and vegetables that Ollie and Connor grew in the backyard. Connor, at least, cared for some of his own plants as well, particularly a set of leafy greens and a Bodhi tree, Cassandra noted.

On her first morning in Star City, Cassandra was awoken by a burst of laughter and a patter of feet in the hallway outside her guest room. She had gone to bed early the night before to make up for the jetlag and rubbed at her eyes as she glared at the clock. She'd have liked to sleep more, but the laughter repeated and soon another sound joined it.

"Psssh! Pew pew pew!"

One laugh turned into a short scream and Cassandra cringed. She didn't dislike children, but she'd never heard one make noise at an hour as unholy as 7 AM.

The laughter and "Pew pew" sounds rattled at her door as she slid into a pair of sweatpants and a sweater. There was no use trying to go back to sleep, she'd probably already gotten more rest than she had since her confrontation with Zsasz.

Cassandra pushed open the bedroom door and in an instant all of the laughing stopped. Just on the other side, in the middle of the hallway, stood a little with long black hair and skin too dark to be white, too light to be Asian, garbed in a pink princess dress.

The two stared at one another and a little shudder ran through Cassandra's frozen body. For just a moment, it was like looking into the past.

"Ah shoot. I'm sorry. Ollie told me you were in a different room."

Cassandra leaned out of the room and broke her stare with her miniature doppelganger. The speaker down the hall was a young woman, maybe a year older than Cassandra, dressed in a flannel top with her hair in a strawberry blonde ponytail.

"I don't think we've met before. Cassandra, right?" The stranger approached.

"Wanna play!" the tiny Cassandra said. "Wanna play so'more!"

"I know, I know." The blonde lifted up the little girl, Cassandra estimated the child was maybe five or six. "I'm Mia. Dearden, in case it matters. And this is Lian." She turned to the little girl in her arms. "Say hi, Lian."

The little girl raised her hand for less than a second and said, "Hi." She then turned her face away.

Cassandra managed a little smile. "Hi. Both of you."

"In the interest of full disclosure, I know, y'know, everything," Mia said. When Cassandra winced a little, she added, "I mean, the basic stuff. You run around in costume at night. It's okay, I do it too."

A little of the stress melted away. "Oh. Who?"

"Speedy the second," Mia said. "Or at least I was before I got a promotion to Super-Nanny." She nuzzled Lian, who giggled. "You just woke up, you want something to eat?"

Cassandra nodded.

Mia cleared her throat and spoke to Lian in a British accent. "Madame Harper, what shall we dine upon this fine morning?"

"Um…." Lian raised a hand to her mouth as she thought it over before she shouted, "Basketti!"

Mia laughed and led Cassandra down the hall toward the kitchen. Despite being on the opposite side of the country, costumed heroes still gathered in the mansion and loved ones acting as servants still spoke with British accents. It still felt like home, so Cassandra let another chuckle slip out as well.

Cassandra and Lian sat at a glass-topped table in the mansion's kitchen big, sparkling white kitchen while Mia reached about for pots and pans. Out from one cupboard she drew a small orange bottle and turned out a few pills within.

Cassandra squinted. "What are those?"

"Vitamins." Mia downed them with a glass of water.

Something about the pace of her response seemed unusual, but Cassandra was quickly distracted when she noticed Lian stick her tongue out at her from the corner of her eye. As soon as Cassandra turned to face her Lian slipped it back in, as if she had done nothing wrong.

Cassandra looked toward Mia again as she slipped a few pills out of a second bottle, swallowed them and made a disgusted face. Cassandra almost spoke, but caught Lian with her tongue out again and jerked her head back over to see. Lian again looked totally neutral.

"How about eggs?" Mia walked toward the fridge. "You like eggs this week?"

Lian turned to her and shouted, "No! Don' want any baby chickens!"

"They're not baby chickens, kiddo," Mia said.

"Baby chickens, baby—" Lian stopped and whirled her head around. From the corner of her eye, she was positive she saw Cassandra with her tongue out at her. Lian pointed. "Stuck your tongue out!"

Cassandra locked into a glare with her. "Did not."

"Did so!"

"Do I need to come over there and sit between you too?"

Both held the stare until they began to crack up and finally broke when each burst into laughter.

After breakfast, Cassandra stepped into the backyard. Beyond the many employees who busily mulched and picked weeds from the garden, Connor sat beneath the solitary Bodhi tree with his hands clasped together. His eyes were shut and Cassandra was unsure if she should try to bother him just yet when he said, "I know you're there."

"Meditating?"

"Yes, but I've gotten what I need for the moment." The sun had just begun to peak over the nearest large house to the east and forced Cassandra to squint. Connor patted the grass beneath the tree. "You can sit here, if you want to."

Cassandra crossed her legs and sat next to Connor in the shade of the tree. "Met Mia and Lian."

"It's a shame we haven't all gotten to work together more." Connor toned himself down to a whisper. "Mia's a reserve for the Titans, you know. Have your brothers really never invited you to join them?"

"Have," Cassandra said. "But home needs a team too. Busy enough there." She yawned and leaned her head against Connor's shoulder, he did nothing to object.

The two sat quietly for a few minutes. The gardeners slowly shifted from their vicinity to the next side of the house and they were soon alone.

"Is she all right?"

Connor only stirred a little. "Hm?"

"Mia."

Again, Cassandra caught something strange when Connor replied. Mia was a split second too fast, Connor was just a bit too slow. "She's fine. Went through a lot when she was younger, so she has to take a lot of extra care of herself now."

Cassandra sighed. There was clearly something she wasn't being told, but she figured it didn't matter. She could almost have fallen asleep again resting against Connor's shoulder, but made herself stay awake so she could enjoy the feeling.

Ollie and Dinah only made their own appearances when it was already late in the afternoon. They found Cassandra doing sit ups in front of the fireplace in their den.

Ollie almost laughed as he stroked his blonde beard. "Roy's friends hooked all sorts of those damn boxes up to my TV to play games on when he had them over."

"Connor's friends just aim higher, I suppose." Dinah smiled toward Cassandra as she paused from her exercise and laid in the center of a great, oriental rug. "Hey, Cassandra. Haven't seen you for a bit."

Cassandra hadn't been at it for long, but was still catching her breath. "You too."

Dinah was dressed in a white T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Cassandra was unsure she had ever seen her without a leather jacket or a pair of fishnet hose.

"You're not planning on going out anytime soon, are you?" Ollie stepped closer to her and lowered to one knee. "We've got instructions."

"No," Cassandra said. "Staying healthy."

"Helena used to say she did too many crunches to not show some midriff in her Huntress uniform," Dinah said. "Don't know if that's what you're going for—"

"No." Cassandra resumed her exercise. "Just healthy."

"I don't believe that story for a second," Ollie said. "It's more ridiculous every single time you tell it."

"I'm serious!" Dinah said. "You can ask her yourself one of these times. I can call up O right now and she'll confirm it if you need every one of us to."

For a moment, Cassandra considered saying something. Dinah had just mentioned Barbara, whom it was now clear she could easily contact if she wanted to. From one perspective Barbara had always been a great voice of care and reason to her. But Barbara had said herself she lost her faith years ago, would she understand the crisis boiling inside Cassandra at that point?

Then again, did anyone around her? She didn't know Ollie well enough to say if he believed in anything or not, but Zsasz's terrible words stuck with her. If he did, wouldn't she already know it? Was she supposed to be worried about the spiritual well-being of the people who had taken her in at such a turbulent time?

Perhaps it was better to be somewhere nothing was truly expected.

"Anyway, the streets are pretty secure right now," Ollie said. "But don't go looking for any trouble. We're a diverse city, but that also means the bastards have more to judge."

Cassandra wasn't even giving him any mind as she resumed her exercise routine, rolled over and began push-ups. It wasn't as if there was anywhere else around the city she wanted to be. Except maybe that Ghirardelli shop for its tasty treat and that kind server.

Her night ended in Connor's bedroom. It was a place of contradiction: it was bigger than Cassandra's room, maybe as bit as the den. Yet the furniture within was sparse. Connor had only a desk covered in tiny treasures, a full sized bed and a pair of yoga mats he'd spread out.

As Cassandra prepared for their first night of stretches and meditation, she chuckled at a fat, golden Buddha on Connor's desk.

"Gift from a friend," Connor insisted. "A bit contradictory to his teachings, but I'd like to think old Siddhartha has a good sense of humor about these things. But I guess if he reached true enlightenment, it doesn't much matter what he thought anymore."

Cassandra stepped onto the matt next to Connor's. "Heaven?"

Connor shrugged. "In a sense. Kind of depends on who you ask." When Cassandra was in place, he pressed his palms against one another. "The Japanese believe so. Christianity only settled there for a relatively short time centuries ago, but they still have heavens and hells. Some of their own making, others they got from the missionaries."

He put out one of his legs and nearly reached his toes when he leaned down. Cassandra did him one better and made it. "In India, where Buddhism originated, it was thought that even the hope of an afterlife was suffering. It was better to detach from everything, even the idea of eternity."

"What about you?"

"According to some of the Justice League's accounts, my atheist father spent some time in the Christian heaven," Connor said. "I think it's better to lead a good life and let God or the gods decide what it was worth."

Just as Cassandra's front leg began to hurt from the stretch, she almost fell forward. Whatever situation Connor had just described Ollie in, it was hard to wrap her head around.

Connor brought his feet together and raised his hands high above his head. "Love others, love yourself. I think that's the best we can do."

As Cassandra took the stance she lowered her head. "Was never good at that."

Connor turned to look at her for a moment and lowered his arms. "We can come back to the yoga later. It's pretty obvious where we need to direct our attention." He knelt down and pat a spot on his matt. "Cross your legs, lotus position."

Cassandra hesitated a moment but then nodded. One leg over the other, eyes closed, she sat and awaited further instructions.

"Deep breaths now. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Find your center of gravity, just like before. Clench every part of your body from your feet to your head, one muscle at a time."

Toes. Feet. Ankles. Lower legs. Upper legs. Groin. Stomach. Hands. Elbows. Shoulders. Chest. Neck. Head—

Cassandra flinched, almost as if she'd just been jerked from sleep. Connor frowned. "Are you all right."

Her breaths were uneven. "I… afraid. Felt… felt nothing."

"That's part of the idea—"

"No." Cassandra was almost gasping. "I can't. Not again. Please Connor—"

It wasn't clear to him what was going on, but he held Cassandra by her shoulders. "Okay," Connor said. "You don't have to. I won't tell you to try again."

"Can't do this." Cassandra still sounded like she was on the edge of tears. "All I have. Gave up everything else."

"What do you mean?" Connor squeezed her shoulder. "I know it's hard, but I can only do so much if I don't know what's happening."

The first tears slid down Cassandra's face. "Year ago, Seraphim, almost gave up on God." She wheezed as she drew another breath. "Couldn't do it again. Give up God for myself—"

Connor slowly started to nod as she struggled for words. "You couldn't give up God for yourself again. So you tried giving up yourself for God."

With her head downturned, Cassandra slowly nodded.

"I'm sorry that didn't work out," Connor said. "We don't have to do anything else if you don't want to."

Cassandra rubbed at her head and tried to wipe the wet from her eyes, but said nothing.

"I don't know what you're looking for. Maybe you're not sure either, but—"

Cassandra leaned forward and silenced Connor with a kiss.

Maybe Connor was right, she didn't know what she wanted. But the misery had exhausted her. She was tired of thinking about the girl from before. She was sick of contemplating who she was supposed to be. And she was haunted by the confrontation with Zsasz. She just wanted someone, anyone, to love her again.

When Cassandra pulled away, she did not look at Connor immediately out of fear of his disapproval. When he said and did nothing, she looked up at him slowly.

"Why did you do that?" Connor sounded neither angry nor approving. It was a question and nothing more.

"Don't know." Cassandra met his eyes as she regained her composure. "So tired of the pain. Like you said. Wanted to let it go. Let… her go."

"Is that really what you want?" Connor squeezed her shoulder again. "And is this how you think you'll get it?"

"Don't know. But want to try." She mustered a weak smile. "Don't you like me, Connor?"

"Of course I do."

It wasn't going to cure everything, she knew that. Nightmares were still ahead. But if Connor could just make her forget that one shred of the past, it would at least be a good place to start.

Cassandra leaned in again, Connor met her halfway and their lips locked again. It made perfect sense. Connor understood who she was with or without the mask on. Connor had never asked her to change or do anything she was uncomfortable with. He was good enough to be a wonderful friend, that made him good enough to be more.

She was still fighting back tears as they held the kiss. Every one of those thoughts was true. So why, for the love of all things sacred, didn't it make her feel any better?


	39. Batgirl- Issue 4

"There was a time I liked coming in here, you know." Bruce held his forehead as one of his elbows rested on an open bookcase. "Feels like the only reason left to come here is to try doing damage control on something else that's blown up in our face."

Stephanie sat on the same couch in Bruce's study Cassandra had, her hands clenched together and her eyes downward. "Am I—"

"No." The response was as gruff as it was fast. "You're not fired. Will all of you stop asking if you're fired? I've been over that with you once. Was it not obvious the first time?"

Stephanie shifted in her seat a little. "Uh, do you want me to answer that honestly?"

"All right, fine. Bad example." Bruce moved from his spot at the bookcase and began to pace. "I'm sorry, I'm on edge. Five children running around in power armor, no closer to finding out what Lipov's doing with his captives, Cassandra… I've been through worse, but I usually have some better leads by now. You chose a very poor time to pick a fight with a very influential radio personality."

"No, that's the thing," Stephanie said. "I think he's part of all this."

"I know you're upset about what Cassandra heard him say—"

"Bruce, I mean literally," Stephanie said. "I think he's literally working with Lipov and the Reapers."

Bruce stopped pacing next to a stern-looking bust of someone Stephanie did not recognize. The two initially shared the expression before Bruce's face turned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I didn't want to bring it up," Stephanie slipped her phone out of her pocket and shifted through. "At least not until I had all the proof I was looking for. But you wanna know why I did it, so I'll tell you." She paused and tapped the touchscreen. "Every time those Reaper guys attack some group of people and start kidnapping them? Gram's thrown a temper tantrum two days before."

Bruce's flinches were very innocuous, but Stephanie had gotten good enough to recognize them when they occurred. "This has happened consistently?"

"I paid for a membership to his website on my computer and favorited all the important rants in my app. Guess I'm glad you asked, because I feel like absolute trash marking all of these as 'favorites,' feels good to tell someone what was really going on." She handed the phone off to him when he held out his hand. "You gotta open the file to view the date. It's really unintuitive."

Without a word, Bruce scanned the items for their names and dates of release. His relaxed forehead wrinkled as she slowly took everything in. It was minutes of reading and rereading before he spoke again. "I'd need to check the exact dates of the corresponding crimes to know for sure… but just at a glance a correlation is possible."

"I was hoping if I confronted him I could get him to confess," Stephanie said. "Then maybe we'd have a lead for where Lipov and the others are hiding out and what they're doing with all those people they nabbed. But I couldn't get him to admit to anything."

After another flick through Stephanie's favorites list, Bruce turned to her. The two met eye to eye for the first time since she'd arrived. "Why didn't you tell me you were investigating this?"

"I was afraid you'd think it was a stupid idea." Stephanie broke eye contact and sighed. "Part of me still thinks this is a dumb conspiracy I just made up."

"Recognizing a connection where there may well be one isn't something to put yourself down about." Bruce handed her back the phone. "But you aren't equipped to handle this on your own right now. You and Tim don't even have a base. If you'd mentioned it to me sooner I could have helped you."

Stephanie looked to the corner and clutched one arm with the opposite hand. "I know. I know all of that… I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm just kind of used to you thinking all of my ideas are terrible."

Somehow, the glare Bruce fixed on her was both fierce and sympathetic. "I don't know what more you need to get out of that mindset. Is it something I'm doing? Some of your ideas aren't good, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes." It was a bitter pill for Stephanie to swallow. "I know compromising the Bunker was a bad idea. A bad, very expensive idea. And you would have pointed out every reason why and talked me out of it if I'd talked to you first."

"I'm not going to approve everything you bring to me, but I gave you that suit for a reason." Despite the firmness that remained in his voice, Bruce had certainly settled since they'd begun. "No more of these undercover investigations. At least not until you have a better reason than the one you just gave me."

For the first time since their discussion had begun, Stephanie let a little smile creep across her face. "Okay. I promise."

"I've been working on some new equipment that should help to neutralize the threat the Reapers currently pose," Bruce said. "I'm not in a position to tell you not to use them after you've overstepped your bounds, so try to make this the first step in regaining my trust."

"I will." Stephanie wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Bruce, I… I've had to forgive you for a lot. Some stuff you deserved, some stuff you didn't. I know I can be the same way sometimes. I'm still so sorry about that."

"I appreciate you not putting yourself in a fight with another former Robin to get make that point this time," Bruce said. "Hopefully whatever Lipov is planning will be damaged if he doesn't have the Reapers at his disposal. He and that boy are formidable opponents, but they're not enough to pull off a kidnapping scheme."

"I'm looking forward to kicking those guys' butts again soon, so I hope you're almost finished."

The two sat in an almost satisfied silence for a minute before there came a buzz from a speaker installed in the corner. "Master Wayne," Alfred said. "You have an unexpected visitor."

Bruce frowned, stepped over to the speaker and pressed a button to respond. "Can you identify him from the camera at the gate?"

"No sir, that's not the issue. He slipped past the gate undetected."

A scowl of both anger and concern crossed Bruce's face. "Where is he?"

"Step aside." Together with the static came a slightly pained, disgruntled sound from Alfred as the second voice took over the speaker. "Let me in, Bruce. Someone's out to kill me, and if you don't protect me you're breaking your code."

The scowl shifted to fury in less than a second. "Alfred? Has he hurt you?"

"I don't need to bother with your butler, Bruce. Just tell him to let me inside."

"Don't move. I'll assess this myself." Bruce released his finger from the speaker and turned back toward Stephanie. "You don't need to see this."

"I'm coming along anyway." She pushed off the couch. "Knowing whatever any of us can will only improve the situation, right?"

"Be careful of that curiosity, it could backfire on you." Bruce stepped out of the study and head for the mansion's entrance. Stephanie followed a few steps behind.

When they came to the foyer, Bruce descended one of the two staircases to the front door. Alfred stood just to his left as he stood at the precipice. Stephanie remained at the top of the stairs and looked downward as he faced the man who stood just outside.

Stephanie didn't think she and David Cain had ever met formally, but she was sure he'd seen much better days. Even from her vantage point there were scabbed cuts across his face, one of his cheeks looked ballooned and purple and one of his eyes was blackened. He dressed in a torn peacoat and a ratty looking pair of slacks, as if he'd run in them through mud and rain.

"Evening, Bruce." Cain sneered as best he could with his battered face. "It's been a while."

Bruce glanced downward at the hands Cain held in his pockets. "What are you carrying, David?"

"Handgun. Really hoping that you'll let me inside so I won't have to use it."

"Is that a threat?"

"I'm not worried about you. I'm already a mess, you'd knock my teeth down my throat if I tried to attack you right now. Even assuming I could outmaneuver you, you got one of your protégés standing at the top of the staircase."

Stephanie double took. She didn't think he'd noticed her.

Cain tilted his head up. "Yeah, you. You're not so sneaky." He turned back toward Bruce. "She probably knows the setup of this place better than I do. She could slip away and alert the police, and that's just too much trouble for this old man tonight."

"Your former associate is looking for Cassandra as well. Why do you think you'll be safe here?"

"For God's sake, don't ask stupid questions. If he knew she was staying here, he'd have attacked this place already." Cain's forehead furrowed. "You remember when you were a punk kid on my doorstep, pleading me to teach you how to fight? Time to return the favor."

"You were just one of many."

"Maybe I should give Ducard a call, then we can all play catch up."

As if exhausted by Cain's insisting, Bruce slid the door open fully and motioned him to enter. Cain pulled off the peacoat and thrust it into Alfred's hands. "Hang that up."

The aging butler looked down at the garment in his hands, back up at Cain and dropped it on the other side of the door. "Terribly sorry, Mister Cain. The closets are all out of order."

Cain opened his mouth to respond, but Bruce stepped between him and Alfred. After a glare, he asked, "Cassandra here?"

"No," Bruce said. "I sent her out of town until his situation with Lipov passes."

"Until he kills me or I kill him, I suppose you mean. Then again, killing him didn't do me a lot of good the first time."

Bruce led him through the foyer. "You do have something I want." The two vanished from Stephanie's view into the parlor that sat between the staircases. "Tell me everything you know about Victor Lipov."


	40. Chapter 33

Though Ollie was clearly trying not to pull Connor away too much, he was still inevitably summoned a few nights out of the week. Though Cassandra did everything in her power not to show it, she was grateful the first night after their kiss he was away. She had a lot on her mind and was afraid to talk to him about much of it.

It was over an hour's walk to the Ghirardelli shop from Ollie's estate, but Cassandra didn't mind. If she wasn't allowed to go out in uniform, the movement would at least help to compensate. It was a chilly evening, but another one of those sundaes sounded very good.

In one corner of her mind, Cassandra wondered if she wasn't hoping for a fight. Maybe some punks would try to attack her and she could take out some frustration on their faces. Another corner admonished her for letting a violent thought cross her mind. And yet another corner told the second to shut up. The last of them acknowledged she was still in a wealthy and well-lit neighborhood and the sun had only just set. The odds of a confrontation were unlikely.

With her hands clutched in her pocket, Cassandra tried to take inventory of the situation. It was a very real possibility Bruce was never going to let her out in costume again. She had practically been exiled from the city she had served for years. She'd managed to screw up the one healthy relationship she'd come so far for and was terrified to admit to Connor her feelings weren't cooperating with her mind. Those were the thoughts she was willing to acknowledge, even worse ones lingered in the back of her mind.

Cassandra slipped her hands out of her pocket when a better use occurred to her. She crossed and clasped them together.

 _Father… what is it? What should I do?_ Even to her it sounded pathetically simple, but that was how she felt. _Why can't I be happy?_

Connor was the most pressing issue, as he was the one problem she couldn't escape anytime soon. The most obvious thought continued to linger at the forefront of her mind. _Because he's a man?_ and again and again she shot down the conclusion. Even if she hadn't put in so much effort to distance herself from her past sins, she still felt drawn to him physically.

 _Because… Buddhism?_ Cameron Gram had never shied away from his disdain for other religions while Cassandra was listening to him back in Gotham. But of anything he extolled, that lesson's impact had relatively little effect on her. She considered the anger behind the words, but she could still remember the Muslim woman and her daughter from weeks before who sobbed and wailed as their family and friends were kidnapped. She couldn't have held Connor's faith against him, she was sure of it.

She paused as she passed the boarder that separated the large houses in the hills from the city proper. The smell of commuter's gasoline and distant seawater mingled as she kept forward.

 _Because… nothing?_ She wasn't sure what to make of what Connor had told her just before their kiss. He didn't know exactly how the world worked, he was just trying his best to help it. Did he actually believe anything supernatural about his own faith, let alone anyone else's?

Did the prospect of being with an atheist bother her?

 _No_ ,' she concluded. Bruce was an atheist, or at least close enough. So was Barbara, so was Ollie, she couldn't just disregard how good they all been to her.

A last answer prodded at Cassandra from the corner of her mind, but she did everything in her power not to acknowledge it. It wasn't worth thinking about, nothing good would come of it.

 _Because… her?_

Cassandra's whole body tightened as she reached a crosswalk and pushed the button to call for a crossing signal. The answer was absurd. Why would she still be lingering on someone who abandoned her for what she valued? Why should she care about someone who didn't want to share a future with her? And why was the thought even crossing her mind when she'd already corrected that flaw in herself?

 _Does she miss me?_

If the voice would come out of her head, she wouldn't need to bump into any gang members. She could just punch it.

 _Still have the number?_

She didn't. She deleted it from her phone's contacts as soon as she'd decided she'd moved on.

 _But Stephanie has it_.

Cassandra had to settle for a few annoyed hits against her own forehead. The girl from earlier needed to get out. She was only supposed to be a happy memory. Cassandra even grappled with that idea for a moment, but found she couldn't honestly say the memories weren't good ones.

All manner of stores lined the street for the last few blocks to the Ghirardelli shop. Clothing shop for rugged urban wear, a market for painting and crafting supplies and a tiny independent movie theater were all set up within buildings of one another.

 _She'd like it here_.

Cassandra finally arrived at the front door of the store store and desperately hoped some sweets would silence the voice. Instantly the smell of melting chocolate and the countless bags of treats in bright packages gave her some much needed stimulus. The first true distraction stood behind the ice cream counter. Lupe grinned at her as she walked in.

"Hi there," Lupe said as Cassandra walked up. "Cassandra, isn't it? Connor's friend?"

Cassandra tried to put on a happy face. "Yes." She peered around the counter. There were clearly other employees working on something elsewhere, but it was Lupe she had hoped to see.

"Connor got your sweet tooth going and you just wanted another sundae then, am I right?"

"Yes." Cassandra pulled a wallet from her pocket and rifled through some bills Bruce had given her. She'd be able to tell the price of the sundae if she's squinted at the menu and had a few minutes to consider, but it was easier to just lay down a bill and ask for one. The numbers still didn't come to her instinctively, it took longer than she knew was normal to identify a twenty and lay it on the counter. "One, please."

"You want me to do anything special with it? Mix ins or toppings or anything like that?"

"Whatever you like." It was too time consuming for her to look over the menu. Soon she was served and seated.

Cassandra was not familiar with the stereotype of the forlorn girl numbing her pain with ice cream, but part of her felt pathetic anyway. Her feet expressed their tiredness the longer she sat down and she began to regret the venture. She wasn't in the right mindset to have journeyed out again for the night and Ollie surely had tasty treats in the house, at least to keep Lian occupied. But Cassandra acknowledged the shop had only been a place to justify a step out of the house.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Cassandra perked up as Lupe set down a small dish of her own on the table across from her.

"Mind if I sit down? I don't want to intrude, but you seem like you could use the company."

Cassandra motioned toward the empty chair opposite her. Lupe sat down.

"Taking my break a little early," Lupe said. "We're not all that busy right now. Connor didn't bring you?"

"Walked," Cassandra said. "He was busy."

"Ah, sure. Sure." Lupe took her first spoonful of vanilla and fudge. "But he said you were visiting from out of town. I guess I assumed you were staying with him—"

"Am."

Lupe double-took. "The Queen's mansion is miles from here. You walked that?"

Cassandra nodded.

"You should stick around until summertime. You might win Bay to Breakers." The little smile on Lupe's face suggested she was pleased with her remark, but she dropped the look after a moment. "Sorry, you probably don't know what that is."

Cassandra almost wanted to be annoyed with her but decided Lupe may be helpful. She and Connor did know one another, but they probably didn't interact much outside of the shop. Even if Lupe did consider him a friend, it was unlikely she would have the chance to discuss anything with him from behind the ice cream counter. At least she could be a less judgmental confidant than Mia, Dinah or Ollie.

"Don't know what to do." Cassandra dipped her head downward.

"Do about what?"

"… Connor."

"I kind of figured that," Lupe said. "You obviously don't have to tell me anything. I'm sorry, I know I can get nosy sometimes—"

"Want to love him." Cassandra rested her cheek on a palm and sighed. "Want to."

Lupe nodded. "But you don't?"

"… Not how I want to."

"Feelings can be a real rollercoaster," Lupe said. "A dark one where you can't see where all the twists and turns are supposed to be. Does he love you?"

The thought took Cassandra a few seconds and another spoonful of ice cream, but she nodded. Connor had always been at least a little stoic. It wasn't as if she acted so different than usual in her earlier relationship.

"Have you told him you're feeling confused?" Lupe took another bite of her own. "Connor seems like the type who would be understanding."

Cassandra shook her head. "Where to begin?"

"I don't know, it's not my life," Lupe said. "I've had to tell some old boyfriends I was confused about some stuff." She clasped her still slightly-too-big of hands in front of her and set them on the table. "I've heard a lot of it too. People talking about their feelings changing, that things didn't turn out the way they hoped they would. Some of it their fault, some of it mine… not everyone's as understanding as Emilio."

"Emilio?"

Lupe let herself smile. "He's my guy. We've been together for ten years now."

Cassandra squinted to scan Lupe's fingers. No ring was visible. "Husband?"

"Nah. That'd be nice, but it's not in the cards." Lupe looked down for a moment. "You want to talk jewelry, I noticed the cross when you first came in. You're religious then?"

As if by instinct, Cassandra raised a hand and tapped the silver cross around her neck. "Catholic. You?"

"Used to be," Lupe said. "Dunno, maybe still am, deep down. Latinas don't get a lot of choice in the matter.

"Too many rules for me," Lupe said. "JC had it all figured out. Love other people like you love yourself… course a lot of people don't really like themselves these days. You'd have to kinda reinterpret that one."

"If it gets you hurt?" A hundred very recent examples ran through Cassandra's mind.

"JC told his father to forgive the people who put him to his death."

Every thought that pushed through Cassandra's mind froze at that moment.

"It's not easy to care so much. I guess that was my biggest problem back when I was still going to church. Not enough love to go around, too many excuses to just push someone else out."

And in her own words, Cassandra asked herself how often she had kept that great commandment to care for others since disaster overtook her.


	41. One Shot- Her

"Are you growing your hair out?" Stephanie asked.

"Nah. I mean, I'm not trying to," Sadie said. "I've been meaning to get it cut again, but I keep putting off calling my stylist."

"I hope this doesn't sound crazy rude, but I never really thought you were the type for that."

Sadie laughed. "I'm not, but I have this friend who owns a place and I like to support her business." She paused, Stephanie did likewise as she leaned down toward lines of tiny bottles of blue paint. "I'm looking for a tone called, 'Azure Medley.' I've only used it once and I've tried to find it, like, three times. It was definitely at this store the one time, so I want to make sure it isn't here today."

The time Stephanie spent with Sadie was, perhaps poetically, most comparable to her interactions with Cassandra for the months after she first came out. Stephanie reassured her constantly that the situation wouldn't do anything to affect their friendship and there wasn't anything wrong with how she felt. Though Stephanie would never admit it, it was a relief for her when Sadie entered the picture. It was helpful to know Cassandra's romantic feelings could be elsewhere.

Her friendship with Sadie was stuck in a similar cycle of reassurance. They didn't need to preserve contact, Sadie had other friends and didn't like thinking she was being pitied. But no matter what she said and no matter what she meant, Stephanie was not sticking for pity's sake.

Stephanie leaned over the aisle they stood in and squinted. "Can't you just mix something a little lighter and a little darker and get most of the way there?"

"Yeah, if I was a chemist or something." Sadie laughed. "Oil paint is expensive and I don't have a girlfriend with a billionaire parent offering to buy me stuff anymore."

"If it makes you feel any better, all the money in the world couldn't make Tim any good with gifts." Stephanie smirked. "Or maybe I should take all the soaps and bath stuff as some kind of personal insult."

"I'll take anything you don't want," Sadie said. "Ha! There it is! At long last!"

There was a paint and craft store just a few miles from Sadie's house. It was a simple, family-owned establishment that got a lot of its business from elders buying birdhouses for their grandchildren to pound at. From across the street there was a constant buzz of heavy machinery and other obnoxious noises. A sign at the front of the shop appealed to the customers for patience and understanding while the Wellspring of Hope was in construction.

"You hear Batgirl cornered that radio preacher the other night?" The question had been on Stephanie's mind since she saw the sign.

"Yeah, I got a good laugh out of that," Sadie said. "That guy's an ass, I'm always up for hearing about him getting knocked down a peg."

Stephanie didn't smile as broadly as she wished she could. It was so nice to have at least someone's approval on that night.

"Maybe she could do something to knock out all the noise at that eyesore across the street." Sadie moved on from the blues past the purples and into the reds. "They're never going to get that thing done. I used to be able to tell you some slightly different detail almost every day, but it feels like they built that skeleton months ago and just forgot about it."

"Maybe they're working on the interior or something," Stephanie said.

"Maybe. I've seen electrical vans and stuff driving in and out of there, but I thought it was too early for that step? You know what, I dunno. I'm not an architect. Take it up with an architect." Stephanie opened her mouth to respond, but Sadie resumed before she could. "How'd Cassie take that?"

A tense chill ran through Stephanie's body. "I don't know. She's out of town right now."

"Oh. What, is she visiting someone? Or just on a rich personal sabbatical or something like that?"

In spite of herself, Stephanie cracked up. "I don't think that's what a sabbatical means."

"Well, whatever. She likes Batman, she likes that Gram guy for who knows why, guess she'll have to pick who she's going to root for when she gets back." After far less searching, Sadie slipped a bottle of red paint marked, "Chilean Sunset" from its place and set it in her basket. "Seems kind of weird though. Kinda thought Batman and the rest of his group would be too busy with all those kidnappings going on."

Stephanie had to bite her lip to keep from getting defensive and just said, "Yeah, guess that is weird."

Sadie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as they walked toward the orange paints. "Is she doing okay?"

It took Stephanie a few seconds to answer. In their past conversations she tried to downplay the negativity. But after what had happened so recently, it seemed impossible to lie. "… I don't know."

Stephanie couldn't tell what, but there seemed to be something inauthentic in the way Sadie stopped in front of the orange paints. Even as she lifted a bottle for a better look with her face out of view, Stephanie felt confident she wasn't actually reading the label.

"Not knowing is the worst," Sadie said. "You know what I mean?"

"Um, I don't think so," Stephanie said. "Care to elaborate?"

Sadie stood up straight. The bottle of paint was still in her hand but she seemed to have no intention of setting it in her basket. "A lot of the time, bad stuff isn't the worst stuff. Yelling, laying around too much, crying. All of that stuff sucks, but you definitely know it's happening."

"Compared to what?"

"Things that don't bubble to the surface. Like hating yourself." Sadie's eyes seemed to glaze over, as if she'd closed them without blinking. "Thinking you aren't good enough to be loved. Punishing yourself because nobody else is doing it for you."

"… Ouch." Stephanie looked down, ashamed she hadn't thought of any of that. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"I know Cassie was finally getting over a lot of her baggage when she met me," Sadie said. "Is she still getting over it? Did I make everything worse?"

"You didn't—"

"I dated this one girl, freshman year. I still see her across the cafeteria sometimes," Sadie said. "After we split up, she looked me dead in the eye one day and said, 'You're the reason I cut myself.'" Sadie wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

Stephanie flinched. "That's so messed up."

"I'm scared," Sadie said. "Maybe it's not supposed to be my problem anymore, but I worry about her all the time." She paused and wiped at her face again. "I gave myself all this stress and I walked away from one of the best people I've ever met. Why? Because I was horny?"

Stephanie went red in the face as an elderly man at the end of the aisle turned with a look she couldn't identify. "Keep it down! Old people shop here!" That statement made the man flash a scowl.

"I'm sorry." Sadie breathed a heavy sigh. "I just don't know. What am I supposed to do? You and Tim have been dating since forever, does he want to marry you right now?"

Stephanie shrugged. "I told him he could ask me when he felt like it. He's rich, Bruce is pretty hands off with him. So I guess if he did, he'd have asked by now."

"Doesn't it bother you guys? Wanting different things like that?"

"We don't want different things. Not really," Stephanie said. "I want to be with him today. I want to sleep over at his place tonight. I wanna keep kissing him and going out on dates and just hanging out with him tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. Enough days into the future and maybe I will be ready for something else, but hopefully he will be too." She managed a small smile. "Today's not enough for a lot of people. But at this point, it's enough for me."

Sadie gave Stephanie a long look before she quietly said, "I guess you're just better than me."

"It's not about better," Stephanie said. "Listen, it seems like you both ended up putting a lot of pressure on one another. And pressure sucks for everyone involved."

"So what, you think I should just pretend like everything's fine?" Sadie turned around, slipped past Stephanie and headed toward the cashiers at the front of the store. "Nod and say, 'That's nice dear' if she starts talking about marrying me when I don't want to?"

"Understanding differences is the first key to working around them," Stephanie said. "As much trouble as Cassie has with some stuff, I don't believe she was actually thinking of you guys getting hitched anytime soon. If you still love her the first thing you've gotta do is let her know, and if you still want to be together you need to be willing to talk about what's bugging you, even when you want to just ignore it." The two exited the aisle in a silence that held a few seconds before she added, "And you may need to give it more time."

"I've got a scholarship to my dream school in Chicago," Sadie said. "I miss her, but I can't just keep hanging onto what was… if she wants to talk to me I'll listen. But you said it yourself, she's in a dark place right now. I'd really hate to make it any worse. For either of us."

In spite of her attempts to quiet her inner matchmaker, Stephanie carefully catalogued Sadie's statements into a corner of her mental inventory. "Some things can't ever go back to the way they were," she said. "But that doesn't mean they aren't still worthwhile."


	42. Chapter 34

To even someone experienced in the formalities of a relationship it was often difficult to fake intimacy. For Cassandra, who had only ever been with one other person and struggled with communication anyway, it was a nightmare. She couldn't let Connor know they hadn't clicked on a romantic level, he felt like one of the last precious friendships she hadn't mucked up yet. So Cassandra tried her hardest to hold his hands when they walked together and kiss him whenever it seemed like it had been too long since she last had. Connor gave her that kind smile he always did and sometimes ran a hand through her hair. She didn't dislike any of it, but none of it came naturally. Even with the girl before, with zero exposure, her instincts guided her well enough.

At least once, Cassandra caught an odd, somehow knowing look from Mia as she and Connor held hands over breakfast one morning. She only identified it once, but wondered if it hadn't come up before.

Connor kissed Cassandra on the cheek and said, "Excuse me." He rose from the small table in the kitchen and headed into one of the large, adjacent hallways, probably toward a bathroom.

Cassandra was left alone with Mia as she swallowed another handful of pills and half of a glass of water. Lian was probably still fast asleep.

"Do you just stay for her?" Cassandra still felt suspicious of the pills Mia often took. "From the Titans?"

Mia heaved a sigh. "It's a couple of things. I've got this bug, probably will the rest of my life. It's usually pretty under control, but some days are worse than others."

Cassandra chose not to question Mia further. Though she suspected something was not being said, it felt wrong to pry any further.

A week after their first kiss, Connor suggested they take a trip into the city to go to one of his favorite restaurants, along with the assurance, "They serve meat there too." At most, Cassandra hoped she could cut loose a little. At worst, she had to at least maintain her façade.

Toward the bottom of her suitcase was a little black dress Stephanie had picked out for her months ago she never got the chance to wear out. She supposed then was as good a time as any. Cassandra wanted to believe she just had to give things more time, but the insistent thought the journey had been an abject failure loomed over her.

The restaurant Connor had talked up was a white tablecloth joint that sat directly next to the bay called Greenery. The floor to window ceilings allowed for an impressive look out at the ocean and the bridge lights across the water. Inside the lighting was intentionally dim with a candle set on every table. The patrons that night were almost exclusively couples save for a large group who laughed toward the back of the establishment. Yet another hostess recognized Connor as soon as they walked in, and with a little talk he secured himself and Cassandra a table right next to the window, close enough to hear the water lap against the docks.

"I've heard the catch of the day is very reliable," Connor said as he mused over the menu. "In case the list gives you any trouble."

Cassandra nodded in silent appreciation. Her reading abilities were still stunted enough, she was in no place mentally to try figuring out how "edamame" was pronounced.

"How do you like the view?" Connor stretched out a hand and set it on top of Cassandra's.

"Like it a lot," Cassandra said. She looked toward the bay and clenched the hand Connor wasn't touching. She had hoped the evening would be a chance to catch her breath, but every action from Connor just frustrated her more. He really was being so good to her, so why wasn't she able to enjoy herself?

Their perky waitress with a chestnut cropped hair and a red tie stepped over and flashed them a wide grin. "Good evening, how are we doing tonight?"

Cassandra answered purely with instinct. "Catch of the day." When she saw the waitress double-take, Cassandra went a little red. "I'm sorry."

"Oh—oh no." The waitress laughed it off and pulled a pad from her belt. "Have you been here before? You seemed very excited."

"Yes." Cassandra wasn't listening, she just wanted to distance herself from the remark.

"Well, I'll be sure to get an order for that in. Can I get either of you something to drink?"

"Water," Cassandra said. "Just water."

"Iced tea," Connor said. The waitress assured them she would return with their drinks and some bread in a few minutes. Once she was out of earshot, he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Wanted to get it right," she said. "Didn't work."

"It's okay." Connor patted her hand. "You're doing fine. She'll probably have forgotten by the time she gets back."

Cassandra clutched Connor's hand, raised it to her mouth and kissed it. "Thank you." Internally, she demanded ever-louder of herself why she took so long to take the action.

"Is everything going all right back in Gotham? Have you heard?"

"Talked to Dad the other day," Cassandra said. "Quiet. Maybe too quiet."

Connor nodded. "Things cycle around here. They will probably pick up again as soon as one domino gets knocked over, unfortunately. But we're pretty well staffed around here."

"What's wrong with Mia?"

Connor's eyebrows raised for a second. "What do you mean?"

"Said she was sick. With what?"

Connor slipped his hand from Cassandra's and held it over his mouth for a moment. "It's a blood disease. Very rare, she doesn't like to talk about it."

"She okay?"

"Usually. Like anything long-lasting, she just has to keep it monitored."

"How did she begin? Find all of you?"

He took a deep breath and a long exhale. "It's a long story. Not a good one for a night out like this…. She probably wouldn't tell you, but you'd understand. You two actually have a lot in common."

Cassandra tilted her head. Appearances could be deceiving of course, but Mia didn't look like she'd been raised to take on anything especially dangerous.

The waitress returned, set down their drinks and a basket of bread. "You still want to go with that catch of the day? It's Pacific Snapper tonight."

"Yes. Thank you."

"And for you sir?"

"Mushroom and spinach filo tonight, I think," Connor said.

The waitress wore the same, dimpled smile the whole time she wrote down Connor's request and told them she would return soon. Cassandra stared at her as she walked away and lowered her look to a glare. She asked herself, as honestly as she was able, if anything seemed appealing to her about the woman. There was still a mental wall to push past, but she allowed herself to consider the idea, if only for a moment.

No, Cassandra didn't feel interested at all. She'd certainly felt something for another short-haired brunette who wore men's clothing, so why wouldn't she feel a similar sensation? Even when she tried to push past her denial for the purpose of an answer she still got nowhere. Her own mind was leading her in infuriating circles.

"Hey, still doing okay?"

Connor's voice snapped her out of her intense stare. "What?"

"You were looking off. I don't know about what… are you crying?"

Cassandra frowned and touched one of her eyes. Even she didn't know it was wet. "Seawater," she said. "Should wipe them. Bathroom?"

Connor nodded and pointed toward one of the corners. Cassandra slipped past tables and couples toward the bathrooms in the corner and down a short turn, walked in and splashed some water on her face. She hadn't realized she was breathing deeply either, but needed a few seconds to stabilize them. So not only would her brain not decide who she was supposed to be attracted to, her body wouldn't even tell her how obviously upset she was. She was ready to pull her hair out if that wouldn't make Connor again ask if she was all right.

She was a warrior. She endured pain and hardship all the time, it was in her job description. And as unpleasant as her early years were, she had been raised to never show any feeling. She was going to go back out there and have a nice dinner with Connor. She had to.

Cassandra made it a few steps outside the bathroom, froze and dodged back behind the hallway. Two tables from the passageway, she could clearly see Lupe in a floral green dress and a man her age, Emilio, surely, seated, eating and laughing. His chuckle was loud enough to reach her and the grin beneath his black moustache was visible even from her distance.

Star City had over 800,000 residents. How were they somehow in the same restaurant?

Though she didn't know why, an anger ran through Cassandra. There was the woman from the chocolate shop. How fortunate she was, to have someone she could be so close to. How nice it seemed easy for her to shrug off her Catholicism. It didn't look all that complicated, so why did it seem so far out of reach.

Over one of their bouts of laughter, Lupe excused herself, rose and headed toward the bathrooms. Cassandra swallowed. She didn't want a confrontation, that was all that could make things worse. She slipped her hands to her sides, dropped her head and attempted to walk back to her table.

With her gaze dropped, she didn't noticed when her shoulder knocked into Lupe's arm.

"Oh, excuse me—Cassandra?"

She swallowed hard and looked toward her.

"Hey! What are you doing here?" It was the same enthusiasm she gave her back at the store. And it just bothered Cassandra more.

"Out," Cassandra said. "Dinner. With Connor."

"Oh that's great, this is a really nice place." Lupe put a hand on her half-bare back and directed her toward her table. "I'm here with Emilio. You remember, I mentioned him the other day."

"Yes." Cassandra attempted to talk a step back toward her table.

"Do you want me to introduce you? He's a funny guy, I promise. He gets along with everyone."

Cassandra pulled Lupe's hand from her back and said. "No. Have to go."

It was just as Emilio looked over that she trudged off. After what felt like a long trek across the restaurant, she sat down again across from Connor.

"Get that taken care of?"

"What?" Cassandra remembered her excuse then. "Oh. Yes."

"Good," he said with a nod. "Good."

Cassandra looked toward the bathroom again. Lupe hadn't gone into the bathroom yet, but she was about to and her back was turned. There was no way to know if she'd reacted to Cassandra's sudden exit or not.

She set her elbow onto the table and rested her chin on her open hand. Now that was one more thing to feel bad about. She would have to apologize the next time she stopped into the shop.


	43. Batgirl- Issue 5

America was a nation founded by Christians in search in search of a new land to more closely follow their beliefs when they clashed with the king of England. Thanksgiving is only a few weeks away, and it seems appropriate we remember our heritage. I encourage all of you to remember to keep the day holy. The earliest pilgrims partook a bounty in the name of God and… and…

"Cam, if you sit there with that sermon any longer your pork chops are going to get cold again."

Gram sighed as he scribbled out a few words of his upcoming radio discussion and set aside his pen. "I'm sorry, dear. Have to make a good impression on the Thanksgiving listeners to keep them coming back for Christmas, you know."

"Yes, yes, I know." Rachel Gram sat down across from him at their kitchen table, eight other chairs in various states of order around them. A small chandelier with light bulbs like tiny flames hung just over their heads. "I wish you didn't bring so much work home with you."

"Gotham's not a city for the faint of heart." Gram pinched the bridge of his nose. "But its got a lot of good, God-fearing people dressed in blue collars. If anyone can save this city, it's going to be me."

"You have some steep competition on that front," Rachel said. "I can't believe one of those people in the costumes actually tried to attack you."

"You've got to be kidding, I'm shocked it took so long." Gram tapped the point out of his pen and reached for his notebook.

Rachel set her hand on to top his. "Eat."

"I just had a thought—"

"If it's worth writing down, it'll be worth remembering for a few minutes," she said. "Or do I need to cut your food for you like Iyaad?"

"All right, all right."

The Gram household was located deep in Gotham's suburbs. It was a large, two-story house with four bedrooms and a two car garage. Two old oak trees sat in the front yard. Cameron and Rachel's eight children slept in three of the large bedrooms and were usually asleep before their father got home from his shift. Gram's mind was awash with ideas for an upcoming sermon, his wife had cooked his favorite dish, it looked to be a pleasant night.

Then the front door creaked open unsolicited. With the front hallway connected directly to the kitchen, Gram and Rachel turned toward it in confusion as it allowed the entourage outside entry.

"Aw man, what'd I tell you guys? It's obviously smaller on the inside."

Gram frowned and looked toward Rachel, who shared in his confusion.

"Not sure I can even get through the front door. Maybe I'll just wait for you guys."

"Miles, you lazy bastard, just watch your head and get your ass in there."

Gram pushed up from his spot at the table. He picked up the steak knife he hadn't used yet and slowly approached the front door.

"Let's just get it done already! We don't have all night!"

"Excuse me!" Gram called from around the corner. "Who's there? You have the wrong house!"

"Is this the wrong house?"

"That was his voice, Miles! How thick are you?!"

Gram stepped into the house's entryway, knife in hand, and glared toward his intruders. It only lasted a moment before the oddity of the sight made him drop the knife.

Gathered in his home's entryway were four figures in suits of armor that ranged from menacing to gaudy. Three were turned toward the tallest of them, garbed in green metal and a cheap ski mask that clashed with the rest of his costume.

"Whatever." Miranda groaned as she turned to face the preacher. "Father Gram, right?"

"… Minister, Gram, thank you." He reclaimed her glare and looked between them all. "You're those kids I heard about on the news. The Reavers—"

"Reapers!" Slipstream snapped. "Damn it damn it damn it, it's Reapers! With a P."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Gram looked down the hallway to his right. The master bedroom was down another corner and at the end of the hall. If he could make it that far, he could get his handgun.

"You've been cordially invited to this overblown thing our boss is hosting." Harmony punched her fists together, and by the lights that activated on her gauntlets, they seemed to be functional. "You're coming with us."

Gram clenched a fist. "Who sent you people? Are you trying to get back into that school you were expelled from or something?"

"All in good time, old man." Miranda stepped forward. "Don't fight this, you'll only make it harder on yourself."

Gram was ready to reject the extended hand when an explosion if smoke overtook the front entryway. Gram and several of the Reapers wheezed and tried to regain their composure when the sound of metal against metal reverberated through the house.

"The kids!" Gram choked on a breath. "Get them out of here. Find somewhere to hide!"

"Who the hell threw that—" Slipstream was silenced when he caught something and struggled against it.

"This is, without a doubt, the last thing I thought I'd see this morning. Every one of you jerks in one room at the same time. What the hell?"

Batgirl dashed out from the smoke and swung her staff at Miranda. The pink-suited villainess caught the strike and was backed into the kitchen. Rachel screamed and ran for the staircase. They had children on both floors who were surely already awake, she had to make a choice.

"You go downstairs!" Gram ran toward the opposite hallway. "I'll go—"

"Nope!" Jabberwocky grabbed Gram by the back of his shirt and jerked him back into the center of the smokescreen. The giant in green made way toward the front door, but a staff smashed into the bottom of his uncovered chin. Jabberwocky grit his teeth and squinted until Red Robin was visible. As the smoke began to clear, Jabberwocky shouted, "Slip, heads up!" He shoved a shouting Gram out the door.

A black and white blur rushed out the door of the Gram house and threw a billow of smoke out with him. Slipstream grabbed ahold of Gram and turned toward the big, white electrical van that waited in his driveway. A millisecond before he could rush toward it with his inhuman speed, a blast of green gel adhesive erupted at his feet and trapped Slipstream and Gram in place.

Gram's fear and anger briefly boiled over. "Oh for heaven's sake—"

In a flash of red and black, Robin descended from the roof, drew a few more batarangs and threw them toward the van's tires. A pair of blue Figments stepped out from the front and back of the van and used their armored bodies to shield the tires from the blades.

"Bastards." Robin turned his attention and closed in on the trapped Slipstream. Within the house, Batgirl clashed with her bo against the many constructs Miranda drew out from her armor.

"Damn it, you really got something to prove, huh?" With a twist of her wrists Miranda formed the end of a spear and the edge of an axe out of the matching staff she had used. "I'm going to end you!"

Batgirl reached into her belt, drew a shorter, deep-red baton from her belt and clashed with the halberd. Upon impact, Miranda's weapon shattered into a million pieces.

She demanded, "What the?!"

Batgirl raised the baton and wagged it back and forth for a moment. "Along with Dr. Light's research, your powers come from a crummy, knock off Star Sapphire battery. On the lantern spectrum, red and violet are opposites. I've got something that can bust up anything you make."

Miranda grit her teeth, raised her arms above her head and forged her fuchsia energy into a battle axe. As she swung it, Batgirl again clashed with her ruby baton, destroyed the latest construct and thrust her staff into Miranda's gut.

In the front entryway of the house, Red Robin dodged monstrous strikes from Jabberwocky that left fist-shaped holes in the walls and floor.

"You think you can beat me, bird boy?!" He pounded again and again, a few strikes good enough to graze Red's cape.

"We didn't even need to figure out a new way to beat you," Red Robin said. "Your punches are too bulky. You can't aim worth a damn without the goggles in your helmet instructing you." Between a pair of punches, Red Robin jumped toward the giant and landed a hook-punch across his face. Jabberwocky groaned as he fell to one knee. "Just say uncle when you're had enough."

Red Robin pulled back his fist to deliver another punch, but Harmony struck him in the back with her enormous, sonic-enhanced gauntlets. The impact threw him into kitchen as he smashed against a wall a few feet from where Batgirl laid a beating to Miranda. "Little help here?" The ringing that ran through his body prevented him from hearing his own request.

"On it!" Batgirl broke from her latest clash with Miranda, rushed into the kitchen and kicked Harmony in the stomach to interrupt her next strike toward Red Robin. From the center of her staff, Batgirl pressed a switch that flipped the end of the weapon to reveal a pair of electricity-infused prongs. As Harmy raised her fist, Batgirl thrust the staff at her sonic gauntlet and overflowed it with electricity. Harmony screamed, a tiny explosion of mechanisms roared from her arm as she was forced backwards, one of her gloves ruined by the overclocking.

Outside, a lowly figment kept Gram pinned against his own garage as Robin battled it out with his twins and the still trapped Slipstream.

"What is any of this?" Fear and anger both lingered in Gram's shouts. "What does any of this have to do with me? What, is the girl trying to save face by creating a situation where she has to save me?!"

"Nothing like that, preacher man." Despite his snarky remark, there didn't seem to be any pleasure in the singular Figment's voice. "Just following orders. Our boss is preparing for our main event, and you're one of the guests of honor."

The Figment who held Gram in place winced as Robin disposed of one after another of his doubles. Out from one of his boots he drew a dagger and attempted to carve a line right to him.

"Your boss? What in the name of God are you talking about?!"

"He discovered your show, not so long ago," Figment said. "Believe me, he considers you a huge inspiration. And he really thinks someone else does too."

As long as he just had to hold off Robin, Figment believed he could stay the course. When the rest of his allies escaped the house, he could drive them and Gram back to Lipov. Maybe then their work would finally be done. Maybe they could finally be done with that nightmare."

"Heads up!"

Figment turned and flinched. One after the other, the battered bodies of Jabberwocky, Miranda and Harmony were forced out of the house by Red Robin and Batgirl. With his allies sprawled out and beaten on the porch, the Figment who held Gram and his copies who tangled with Robin slowly looked up in shock and fear."

"Let's finish this," Batgirl said. "Once and for all."

She and Red Robin joined Robin in the front yard. After the beating he'd already taken while glued in place, Slipstream fell backwards with a single punch from the both of them. Nine Figments stood between the three heroes and the last one who held Gram, and the battle was over before it even began.

Strikes with the staffs. Stabs with the knives. Punches to the face. Kicks to the midsections. One by one the Figment duplicates were overwhelmed and defeated by the three as they made the slow advance. In spite of himself, a tiny smile crept across Gram's face.

The three heroes raised their weapons toward the final Figment. "I don't know what this is supposed to be," Batgirl said. "I don't know if he's in on this with you guys or what. But it's over. Leave the awful radio personality alone."

Somehow, Figment gave the impression he was glaring through the helmet that obscured his face. After a pause, he spoke slowly. "My flesh and blood body isn't here now, you know."

"Yeah," Batgirl said. "That doesn't change this situation."

"I think it does," Figment said. "I don't know which one of you decrypted my helmet's details before, but tell me, did you notice these suits are all have a self-destruct protocal?"

Red Robin glared. "What?"

"Oh yes. Paired with the vials of poison at the napes of the neck. I managed to override the measures on whoever made these suits. If they sense our heartbeats have stopped, they're wired to explode."

"So what?" Robin said. "You're just gonna kill yourself before we can take you in?"

"I'm sitting at a computer miles from here," Figment said. But I could send the preacher's house up in a puff of smoke with the rest of those idiots."

"Richie you slime!" Miranda pushed off the ground and attempted to rush toward him, but faltered and fell. Batgirl turned to face her in case she rose again.

"Don't be fools, any of you!" Gram shouted. "Don't trigger those explosions and for goodness sake, don't go killing yourself!"

"Oh shut up already!" Figment slapped Gram upside the head and trapped him in a headlock while he was still distracted by the sheer audacity. "Let me free, boys and girl. Or I'll blow us all away."

The heroes managed only a second to contemplate. The enormous green gauntlets of Jabberwocky were thrust between them, pulled the three apart and grabbed toward Figment. "Nerdy little bastard threatening to blow my head off!"

Figment dodged under Jabberwocky's fist, thrust one open palm at Batgirl, who grabbed the spot on her chest he pushed against, and dragged Gram along for a break toward their white van. "Get him in! Let's get a move on!"

The other Reapers, beaten but not immobile, made a break for freedom. Slipstream yanked off his boots and ran without his super-speed. Harmony smashed at the motorcycles that had assembled in front of the house with her remaining gauntlet before it shorted out as well. Miranda constructed a pink wall and thrust the heroes against the garage with it, but it only lasted a moment before it faded away.

"We're so close!" Red Robin shouted. "We have to catch up, we can finish this!"

He bounded toward the white van as Gram made a last scream for salvation before it sped out of the driveway and into the night.

"Damn it!" Robin stomped his foot. "Damn it all! How much time were you looking at those schematics? Did you really have no idea there were explosives woven into those costumes?"

"I dunno, did you see any when you were investigating them?" Red Robin sneered toward Robin only a moment before he looked back toward the van, which swiftly faded into a white dot in the distance. "There has to be a way we can still catch them, there has to be!"

As the two Robins bickered about what had taken place, Batgirl slowly looked down at her hand. Figment hadn't shoved her for nothing. In the center of her palm was what looked to be a small, black, plastic object. As she thumbed at it a little, she found a USB stick extended out the end of it. In the center of the black plastic was a white slider that bore tiny words she had to raise the mechanism to her eyes and squint to read. But as she did, all became clear.

OVERRIDE PROTOCAL.

Figment had, it seemed intentionally, handed over the key to the Reapers final undoing.


	44. Sins of the Father- Issue 1

The week that Bruce spent trying to pry answers out of Cain could, at best, be called trivial. Despite multiple presses for information each day, lengthy talks and what seemed to be genuine honesty from Cain, it was difficult to ascertain much of anything about Lipov. Cain was kept within a small, hidden room at the center of Wayne manor, impenetrable without a two-way biological lock that required both Bruce and Alfred to unlock. Within was only a small chair, a bed and a doorlessbathroom. On the wall was one of the many speakers that ran throughout the mansion.

"I fought Vic about to a standstill in Moscow, two decades ago." Cain sat on the bed as he reflected. "He was working security for the KGB in a testing facility for potential nuclear-weaponry, the kind of stuff the Demon Head hates no matter who's manufacturing it. The rest of his squad I picked off no problem, but he outlasted all my bullets and I had to try taking him out at close range. Guess I saw something in the kid, then. Offered to take him away from cold, freezing Russia and put him somewhere his skills would be of better use."

"Do you know anything about his psychological profile? Revenge is one thing, but he seems to have obsessed over you for a long time."

"He's a compulsive liar. After the first couple times he told me how he grew up and the story was different, it almost became a game. Sometimes he got the idea to join the KGB from his father, who was also an agent. Sometimes the KGB wiped out his family and he wanted to join them so he'd never have to feel weak again. He'd even change where his stories came from. Some days he heard them from other kids locked in the reeducation camps. Others he worked for the camps and stole what he heard for a laugh. I don't know how old he is, I don't know where he came from, I'm not even sure Victor Lipov is his real name."

"What about this encounter the two of you had? The one where you insist you killed him?"

"Tatras Mountains, along the Polish-Slovakian border. According to our instructions we were being paid to eliminate a camp of pro-communist rebels dissatisfied with the recent Velvet Divorce. It was really just a convenient place to make a death look accidental, considering how dangerous some of the paths are and how little travel they saw in the dead of winter. Ra's al Ghul gave me the job personally, said Vic's sadistic behavior ended up letting one too many people slip through the cracks. He said Vic looked up to me, he'd trust me no matter what I said."

"What happened then?"

"Vic caught on to what I was sent to do before I could do it. Knocked the gun out of my hand, I had to resort to a knife." Cain paused and traced two lines down his cheeks with a finger. "Those scars on his face? I gave him those."

"How did it end? What made you so sure he was dead?"

"I knocked him off the edge," Cain said. "His body went limp and he rolled down a half-destroyed trail of rocks, ice and awful falls before he hit the ground for the last time. I even took the long way back down to his spot, which took over two hours, and there he was in the same, bloody clump. No pulse, no breath, nothing."

Bruce rubbed at his forehead as he took inventory of all the facts and tried to make some answer out of them. "You said it was winter—"

"December. Cassandra was born a month later."

"Maybe the cold helped to preserve him, even after all his internal motion seemed to stop."

"And maybe some gypsy woman found him there, performed some magic ritual and brought him back to life." Cain scoffed. "It doesn't matter how he survived. You realize that, don't you?"

"Knowledge of your enemy is an important resource," Bruce said. "You taught me that."

"Well, apparently Vic really took it to heart, turning my own idea against me."

"That leads me to my next point. That boy he trained, do you think he could defeat, even kill, Cassandra?"

"He fought the two of us to a standstill," Cain said. "And if Lipov gets his way, he's not going to let it be two against one again. If he can manage it, it'll just be the kid and her next time."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Bruce rubbed at his forehead before he glared at his old mentor. "Does that matter to you?"

"I'm telling you all this, aren't I?"

"I figured you were just trying to protect yourself."

"What do you, Bruce? You want me to give you some proclamation or something? You wanna hear me say something about how much I care? Keep your daddy issues to yourself. You're Cassandra's father, you don't need me to say it."

"What is she to you then?"

"What's it matter what she is to me? I'm a bastard drunk who should have died a long time ago." Cain looked to the floor. "And if you think I'm hard on myself now, you outta give me a drink."

"Maybe it isn't too late," Bruce said. "You could still cut ties with the League, I could help protect you."

Cain managed a small smirk and shook his head. "Only a parent could be proud of someone who did the exact opposite of what they were always told to do. I don't need your brand of redemption. I'm fine where I am."

The two glared at one another for another silence. The two minutes seemed as two centuries.

For a few short seconds, the room was thrust into darkness.

Both Bruce and Cain jerked up straight as the lights began to function again and a crackle came from the speaker on the wall.

Through the static, Alfred spoke. "Master Wayne, did you just see that?"

Bruce rose and pushed the response button. "I did. What was that?"

"I think someone just cut the mansion's mine powerline.The backup generators are now running."

Bruce looked toward Cain and a tiny chill ran through him. "Alfred, head for the safe room. I get the feeling this wasn't an accident."

"I'm on my way now."

"Keep using the speakers. Let me know you're all right." Bruce turned toward Cain. "Do you think this is his doing?"

"Don't know, but he had a lot of the same training I did," Cain said. "Cutting the power is a hell of a way to start a break-in."

Brice grit his teeth and stared at the intercom. Only seconds had passed, but it seemed like Alfred was taking much too long to respond.

"Moving through the kitchen and toward the foyer," Alfred said.

"Good, thank you."

A mocking laugh slipped past Cain's lips. "You know, if Lipov and the kid take out your butler, they won't have a way of getting into this room."

"Keep quiet!" The insinuation angered Bruce.

The seconds ticked by. "I'm crossing the foyer to the second floor now."

"Second floor, hm?"

Bruce's blood ran cold. The voice that followed Alfred's bore a Russian accent. He grit his teeth as he pressed the button again. "Lipov."

"Mister Wayne. You know, I don't know much about you other than paparazzi talk, but I couldn't look away from one of these photos of yours."

Bruce pressed the button on the speaker. "Alfred, forget the correspondence. Just get in here. Now."

"Are all of your children adopted, Mister Wayne? What about this little Chinese girl? Her too."

Bruce did not answer and silently pled for Alfred to reach the room without being spotted.

"I spent years trying to figure out where David's spawn was hiding out. I was always prepared for when the day would come, but I didn't draw a conclusion until I heard about the silent little Angel who defeated a giant with a flurry of pressure point strikes. It still wasn't much to go off of, but my instincts led me to rest of the way."

It was everything in Bruce's body not to shout at Lipov to get out, but a response would only further egg him on.

"I never did conclude her public identity before I came here. No real records of any Cassandra Cain I could find. But then that tracker the Odmience practically shoved into Cain's bloodstream, after a lengthy delay, started showing me coordinates to Wayne manor."

"God damnit!" Cain raised his arm to eye-level and glared at his veins. "How'd the little bastard do that?"

"And now it's all starting to click. So I suppose that makes you the Batman too? If only I was invested more in this city, thatmight be meaningful to me."

Bruce pushed the button hard enough it almost broke. "Alfred, I don't know where you are but get in here, now."

Just as he spoke, metal gears within the wall began to whirl. On the wall opposite Bruce and Cain, the mechanism with a hand and ocular sensor began to glow green. Bruce rushed over to it, set one hand on the pad and raised his face to the slot to scan his eyes. The machinery within the walls picked up the pace as a small door slipped open from the wall next to him. A panting Alfred stood on the other side.

"I'm all right," he said. "Let me just—"

Alfred was thrust into the safe room by a force from behind him. The force slipped into the space, crossed it like a flash of black and took hold of Cain.

"Little son of a bitch!" Cain struggled a moment before the Odmience thrust him through the entrance of the room.

Bruce, fueled more by instinct than anything else, rushed at the Odmience. Part of him felt conflicted, given the boy's age, but that would not stop him. While the child looked the other way, Bruce swung at his head hard enough to knock him off balance.

The Odmience only faltered a moment and caught the next punch Bruce threw. An ounce of genuine fear trickled through Bruce as he noted how the tiny body held and began to twist his arm. Though he showed no pain initially, the Odmience lifted his foot, kicked him in the stomach and forced him backwards

A gunshot followed and, once the ringing subsided, Cain's screams of agony just outside the safe room door was audible. Bruce pushed to his feet as Lipov stepped into view on the outside of the safe room, Cain bled from one of his knees at the madman's feet. As Lipov stepped up to the precipice, the security door began to beep.

"Bring out the old man." Lipov raised his gun toward Bruce. "You stay where you are. Hands where I can see them."

Bruce bitterly complied as the Odmience shoved a shakingAlfred out of the room.

"Good to know where I can get ahold of the girl," Lipov said. "Where is she?"

"She isn't here." Bruce searched about for a method to escape the situation as he spoke, but the entire point of the room was to prevent any easy means of escape. Including for himself.

"No? I'll have instructions for you, a week from now, if all goes right. Tell her to meet me. Or I'll burn this whole mansion to the ground."

The beeps from the door faded into one long tone as it slipped shut. The last thing Bruce saw was Lipov smash the butt of his gun into Alfred's head and crack it bloody. Bruce shouted and ran at the door as the safe room locked itself. There would be no escape from the room until Alfred could let him back out.

Bruce pounded his head against the door. An enemy had tracked him to his home and had an ultimatum to prepare. Whether he liked it or not, he needed Cassandra back.


	45. Chapter 35

It was another two nights before Ollie had to claim Connor for the night again. Cassandra was grateful, she felt bad enough about her dismissiveness toward Lupe. If she was going to remedy the situation, she wanted to do it on her own. She had another long walk to the shop and another chance to mull over what had become of her life. She wasn't even sure what made her feel so desperate to apologize, but it was probably the hope she could salvage even a single connection she'd made.

A single thought followed her the entire walk. The two words had burned in the front of her mind since the end of her confrontation with Zsasz and threatened to consume her entirely. _What happened?_

When was the last time she had truly felt happy? It had been good to just sit and be with Connor before she'd made the situation so strange. Prior to that, when? Cassandra was combating crime in an overly aggressive way that didn't come naturally to her. She picked arguments with Stephanie just for the sake of picking them, it felt like. She was just trying to do what a man totally enamored with his faith said was the right thing to do. And the happiest memories that came to her from before all that all involved the girl she had tried again and again to put out of her memory.

Gram said over and over again that the road God set was not always an easy one. God sent trials and tribulations to test the will of his followers. And even while begging that they stop, Cassandra had done everything in her power to fulfill his will. God was good, he would lead her through those wretched times.

 _Didn't I do it right?_ She bowed her head and prayed as she continued her walk. The sun had just set, the night was silent save for the buzz of passing cars. _How much more?_

These were what Gram had warned his followers of. He said the will of the virtuous would be tested. To know the will of god and defy it, that was heresy.

And maybe, for some strange reason, that was the force that pushed her to the Ghirardelli shop that night. She had done wrong, she needed to atone for it. At least to one person. Maybe it would be the start of something more.

The bell that hung over the door gave a little _ring_ as Cassandra completed her pilgrimage to the shop that shown with gold wrappers and smelled of melty chocolate. As soon as she walked in, she frowned. A slender redhead stood at the back of the ice cream counter.

"Hello!" She said as Cassandra slipped past other browsing customers. "Can I help you?"

"Is Lupe here?"

"Oooh, I'm sorry, you just missed her," the redhead said. "I've heard she's the best, but I'm still happy to serve you."

"Wanted to talk." Cassandra sighed. "Sorry."

She turned to leave, embittered she had come so far for nothing, when the redhead called, "Hey!"

Cassandra turned to look at her.

"Her boyfriend usually picks her up at the bottom of the hill. You know that Chinese joint across from the bay?"

She nodded.

"Yeah, usually in front of there. She just got off, you might still be able to catch her."

Cassandra pushed open the door, nodded to herself and said, "Thank you."

She didn't know how long she would have, so she broke into a sprint when he stepped out of the shop. It was fortunate the redhead mentioned about the only other place in Star City she was familiar with. It didn't take her more than a minute or two to reach the bottom of the steep hill. Many people from giggling teenagers to adults still in their work clothes moved to and fro up and down the street, but there was no sign of a waiting Lupe. Cassandra gave a sad gaze toward the Chinese restaurant, as if she expected Lupe might have gone in, but it was dark on the inside. As a chilly wind blew through the air, Cassandra slipped her hands into her pockets and turned her eyes to the ground. Nothing was going to be accomplished that night. She figured it best to head back to Ollie's for the night.

She made it about four steps before a car nearby honked and made her jump. She wondered for a moment if it wasn't intended for her, until she got a better look at the street, where a beaten up old blue sedan was stopped in the lane closest to the sidewalk. Cassandra wasn't sure if the driver was allowed to park there, but the honk from the car behind implied the driver was not. She peered into the car in her confusion and almost double-took. Inside sat a man with short, dark hair and a black moustache like a caterpillar under his nose. She had only a passing glance from before to work off of, but she was sure he must be Emilio. But there was no sign of Lupe in the car with him. He must have still been waiting for her.

Cassandra stared at the car for a moment and began to trek back up the hill. Maybe she had run too fast and missed Lupe on her way down. She would go slower this time, make sure not to overlook anyone she passed. And if that failed, maybe she really had mistaken the man who sat waiting at the bottom of the hill. But something in her gut suggested otherwise.

"Please… please just leave me alone."

"You think this is a joke? You think this is funny?"

Cassandra stopped in her tracks as she heard something. She looked toward the dark Chinese restaurant and squinted her eyes. Two figures were just barely visible up against a dumpster. She didn't know how she heard them over the cars and the passing conversation on the streets, but she did. And something pushed her closer.

"What did I ever do to you?" It was a woman's voice, and the closer Cassandra came the more familiar she realized it was. "I'm just trying to live my life—"

There came a sharp slap as the other figure, a middle aged man, from the sound of it, commanded, "Shut your dirty mouth, fag! You're all just waiting for us to drop our guard. I know what you are, and I'm going to snap you in shape like someone should have a long time ago!"

Cassandra crossed the ally in a sprint before she froze at the scene before her. A fierce-faced man with a brown beard and denim jacket held her up against the dumpster as she struggled to escape his grip. Lupe opened her mouth to scream but her attacker shoved one hand over her mouth and forced his other hand down the front of her dress.

For a moment the hesitation vanished. Cassandra began to run toward the man who seemed to have not noticed her, before he pulled something out from Lupe's shirt. Cassandra was again frozen in conclusion as he threw it toward the ground. It looked to be a gray sack of some kind, by the way it hit the ground, filled with something soft and gelatinous.

The bearded man shouted as he pulled another out from the other side of Lupe's dress. "You think a pair of fake tits makes you a woman? You think that means people will just let perverts like you slip into the bathrooms with our daughters?" He raised his knee and thrust it between Lupe's legs. A shout of pain made it past his covering hand as she keeled over in pain.

"Stop!"

The man looked over and Lupe's eyes went wide with horror. It was the confusion that held Cassandra in place for those few seconds, but it could not hold her forever. She took a step forward as she locked eyes with her opponent.

"Let her go."

"Mind your own, kung pao chicken," he said. "Get out of here."

"No!" Cassandra took another step. "Let her go."

Lupe forced the man's hand down. With tears running down her face, she shouted, "Cassandra go call someone, but don't come any closer! Don't let him get you too!"

"What'd I tell you about shutting up, faggot?" The bearded man pulled Lupe from the dumpster and thrust her back into it. He looked back toward Cassandra. "It's an act, kid. Today these sons of bitches are running around in dresses, tomorrow they're cornering our kids in bathroom stalls. Get out of here, forget you've seen anything."

"Last chance." Cassandra spoke through her teeth. The anger of her friend held crying against a dumpster, the days of being unable to fight and weeks or rage slowly bubbled to the surface.

"This is the only way fags ever learn," he said. "God made men and women, and if one wants to pretend to be the other, they need to be kowtowed back into line!"

In that moment, Cassandra didn't know what she truly believed. She wasn't sure what to make about the talk of Lupe supposedly being a man or the fake breasts that laid on the ground before her. She couldn't remember what God had truly said about the state of being male or female and she didn't consider what that made of her friend's relationship with Emilio. What was happening before her was wrong. That was all that mattered.

It only took one bound to close the distance between them and force the man off of Lupe. The bearded man stood over a head taller than her and was clearly thrown off by the way the tiny Asian girl had overpowered him. When the shock passed he threw a punch. Cassandra weaved around one strike and then another before she dug two fingers into one of his pectorals. He yelled out in pain and tried to strike her again and again. A tiny part of Cassandra's psyche savored the fact the man was clearly not a fighter. He clearly wasn't even hardened from combat with other vigilantes. He was just a thug who had cornered her friend. Each of his punches were wide, sloppy and easy to dodge. She let him swing at her over and over until he began to gasp and wheeze with tiredness.

As the bearded man struggled for breath, Cassandra retaliated with a strike to each of his knees. Another shout of agony and he fell to a kneeling position. She raised her foot and delivered a final snap kick to the front of his face. Blood ran down the attacker's nose as he fell backwards in the alley and gripped at his wound as the red seeped down into his beard.

Cassandra stood tall over him, glared downward and quietly but firmly said, "Run."

The thug scrambled to pick himself up and ran out of the alley for his life. Cassandra watched him flee until he was out of view and slowly turned toward Lupe, still disoriented and trying to stabilize her breathing.

"You all right?" Cassandra asked.

Lupe tried a few times to respond with words before she threw her arms around Cassandra and sobbed. "Oh thank you. Oh my God, thank you!"

Cassandra allowed the instincts she had so long repressed. She clutched this woman she only barely knew, but still considered a friend, and pat her on the back.

"You're safe," Cassandra said. "Safe."

It took a few minutes for Lupe to steady herself enough to wipe away the tears and begin to make her way out of the alley, Cassandra in tow. As she came to the sacks that laid on the ground, she said, "I didn't want you to know… I don't want anyone to know, if they don't have to. But I was sure you wouldn't like me if you knew."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Lupe picked up the sacks, brushed them off and slipped them back into her dress. "When I first told my good, reverent Catholic parents, they certainly didn't take it well. Mama lamented for days about what godless America had done to my psyche. I was born in this country and she was still insisting she had to send me back to Mexico."

Cassandra didn't want to trouble her, but the question escaped before she could stop it. "Why… you like this?"

Lupe took a deep breath and a long exhale as they stepped back onto the street. "I don't know, and I've given up trying to figure it out…. Nobody wants to be uncomfortable in their own skin, Cassandra. And when you do, you'll do whatever you can to make sense of it." She wiped another tear away as it formed in her eye. "If God gave us hair that just keeps growing, are we defying him by cutting it? Adam and Eve lost their innocence in the garden and started wearing clothes, do you think that means we shouldn't bother wearing clothes?"

Cassandra said nothing, but every word touched her in a new and different way.

"Excuses for religious people to stop loving others." Lupe straightened up her dress to ensure her look was complete again. "We're not mindless drones. Every person has a different personality, every spirit is supposed to be a different spirit. What good is it for God to have put all that work into making us all so beautiful if we're all supposed to be exactly the same?"

Lupe's final sentiment struck Cassandra to the core of her being, so much so she stopped in place as Lupe kept moving toward Emilio's car. It was exactly as she had said to Stephanie weeks before, she had tried to surrender herself, her wants, her being, over to do God's will.

And Lupe had suggested it was all wrong.

Lupe turned and shouted, "Cassandra? Hey, Cassandra! You coming? Let me at least tell you goodbye!"

Cassandra snapped back to reality a moment, ran toward Lupe and wrapped her arms tight around her. Lupe was thrown off for a moment, but soon emulated the position and the two held one another in a tight embrace.

From within the car, Emilio rolled down the window. From the look on his face, he seemed frightened. "Lupe, dear, you're late. Is everything okay?"

Lupe sniffled as she turned their hug toward him. "It's all right now, darling. It's a terrible story, but thanks to this young woman, it has a happy ending."

For the first time in too long, fire began to course through Cassandra's veins. Maybe she couldn't rebuild what she had lost with Sadie, but she refused to put it out of her mind any longer. Maybe she couldn't win all of Gotham's criminal population over with redemption instead of violence, but she was ready to try again.

Hating good people for what made them different wasn't in her nature and she was finished with it. She was going to go back to Gotham, she was going to settle things with Lipov and the Odmience.

The greatest commandment Christ shared with his followers was, "You shall love the lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength." Following this, he said, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these."

Cassandra had run from her true nature and from God's most significant commandments. She knew the word and chose to defy it, it was finally time to stop running.

It was finally time to overcome her heresy.

[[Happy fourth anniversary. The Times of Heresy will officially end Easter Sunday.]]


	46. Sins of the Father- Issue 2

It was a slow journey back to lucidity when David Cain regained consciousness. A buzz moved throughout his brain, wrists were tied down and felt raw. Wherever he was, sunlight slipped through slots in the ceiling and the hum of heavy machinery slipped through the cracks. He jolted and tried to free himself when the stink of gasoline reached him. But his legs were bound as well. At least one of them was as he fearfully remembered what had become of the other.

"Oh good." The soft _pat_ of two hands held in leather gloves welcomed Cain back to the land of the living. "I could have watched you sleep all day, but this is much more exciting."

Cain opened his mouth to respond but slipped into a fit of wheezing before he could. When he regained his composure, he just said, "Vic… where are we?"

"Half-finished construction site I've taken for myself," Lipov said. "Can hardly believe it, but it's supposed to be a church. Paid off the workers before I came to town. Kept the big machines running so it looks like things are happening. At first it was just a convenient place to hide, but I think it's the perfect place to bring your girl so we can end this once and for all."

Even after the decades without words and Lipov's deadly intent, Cain couldn't shake speaking to him as he always had. "Leave her out of this." It wasn't a demand, it wasn't threat. It was just a request.

"Oh no no no." Lipov wagged a finger as he stepped closer. "I can't do that. I've come too far now. I'm going to punish you."

"Then take Shiva," Cain said. "Sandra Wu, she's still alive. Last I heard she was right in this city in Blackgate—"

"Sandra Wu was just a womb you used." Lipov smirked. "You told me that yourself. I don't care about her because you don't."

Cain pushed and rubbed against the ropes that secured his hand to his chair, but they gave no slack. "Nearly two decades, Vic… you couldn't have just tracked me down and put a bullet in my head years ago?"

Lipov, smirk still on his face, shook his head. "My demon wasn't ready. It took years before he finally gave up his soul and years more before he could fight like he does. I'm not content to kill you, old friend. I want to see your whole world smashed to pieces by my hand."

Cain guffawed. "And you took eighteen years to get this far. Ra's was right to tell me to burn you. You can't be relied on to get anything done."

Lipov clenched his fist. For the first time in the exchange, his joy melted away. "Have you been lied to so many times you believe that's the truth?"

Cain grit his teeth in indignation. "Lied to?"

"How many missions did we carry out together?" Lipov stepped up to Cain, opened his hand and slapped him across the face. The strike wasn't powerful, but it was meant to wound his pride. "How many people did we hunt down together?" He delivered a second slap with the back of the same hand. "Did I ever let a single one escape me? Did I ever leave a job undone?"

Upon the third slap, Cain shouted. "I stabilized you! You would've let them all slip through the cracks if it wasn't for me!"

Lipov glared at him for a few seconds before a shred of his smile returned and he patted Cain on one of his redding cheeks. "It's nice to finally have closure on that story. That's what Ra's al Ghul told you then?"

"He tried to send you on assignments while I was away and you were a failure—"

"I suppose when you word it like that, it almost sounds true. But I only ever failed one assignment. Would you like to know what it was?"

David turned his head to speak his indifference without a word.

A glossy look came over Lipov's eyes, as if he was remembering something nostalgic. "I was summoned by the Demon himself one day while you were away in China. Guards with blades in hand stood all around me, mighty fires billowed around his place of honor. Even with the flames, I could barely make out his face, but I'm sure it was him."

"He told me he always knew I was something magnificent. He said it was time I ascended upward. I could be trusted with more advanced missions. I deserved greater compensation. I had taken the first step toward becoming his rightful heir and claiming his fortune, army and beautiful daughter as my prize. He just had a last task for me. Something to prove my devotion to the cause. I had to snuff out a man he feared was planning insurrection."

Cain had only been half listening before he jerked his head upward and stared, wide-eyed, at his old companion. "Insurrection? He couldn't have possibly been talking about me."

"Couldn't he?"

"He knew what I was doing, he gave me the time and resources to do it!"

"You plotted to create the most powerful, most efficient and most untraceable assassin known to man and you believed the business's greatest ruler would just let you? The Demon approved of your idea, but he believed you would raise her to one day topple him. So he called on me to erase you and your spawn."

Lipov paused briefly to admire the way Cain's mouth had slipped open in shock and the way little beads of sweat began to drip down his forehead. "I told him no," Lipov said. "Said I found the whole thing disgusting. Told him you were one of the most loyal of his men and he was only away preparing a gift for the League. There must have been eight bodyguards in that room who all drew their blades and surrounded me a second later. I was sure I was a dead man, but the Demon called on them to stop. Told me it was only a test, that he had no place for warriors who would so readily betray their own allies." He stopped and rubbed his forehead. "I should have known what a weak excuse that was."

Cain tried to speak, but his mouth had gone so dry he needed time to wet it. "He told me—"

"It doesn't matter what he told you!" The fire that had quietly burned within Lipov for years roared to life. "When he told me to kill you, I refused. And when he told you to kill me, you didn't back down." Lipov grabbed ahold of Cain's face and squeezed his cheeks. "Your life, your daughter's life, they both belong to me. I'm just claiming what is rightfully mine."

Cain wheezed again when Lipov released his grip. Many questions lingered in his mind. Some calls for action, others tiny mysteries he couldn't drive from his mind. "That boy… he's your son then?"

"No." Lipov crouched down so he and Cain were at eye level. "He belonged to the family who saved me." He paused as if he expected Cain to respond, but he didn't. "Maybe you really did kill me that day, I don't know how else to explain what happened. The last thing I remembered was tumbling downward, rocks splintering my bones and the world spinning in circles as I descended. I don't remember hitting the ground, I just remember waking up, I don't know how long later, inside little cottage with just one room."

Lipov pushed back to a standing position and began to pace around Cain's chair. "Maybe I'm a revenant obsessed with my unfinished business, I'm not sure." He gazed down at his hand, as if perturbed by something on it. "Pieces of those memories are missing. I don't remember if the mother and the father said anything to me when I awoke. I can't remember any of their features at all. I just remember the first sound I heard was a crying infant in its crib next to the bed. He made these awful little shrieks and screams. I wanted to throttle him, but for some reason, that wasn't good enough for me. I ran into the kitchen nook for a knife." The hand shook a little. "No infant should have been able to survive that cut with nothing but slashed vocal chords to show for it. But my Odmience is no boy. He is a demon."

Lipov turned to face Cain again, the same hand he had just pondered clenched into a fist. "I'm going to break your little angel. The Odmience is going to rip off her wings, shatter her halo and beat her bloody. Only when she wails that there can be no God in a world so cruel will she finally be allowed to die. And you, after I make you watch it all unfold, can join her." Lipov turned and began to walk away.

Lipov made it nearly out of sight into an adjoining corridor when Cain shouted, "Vic!"

He paused at Cain's shout and turned slowly to face him again.

"My kid's made of flesh and blood, just the same as you and me," Cain said. "You put a gun up to her head and pull the trigger, you've got a ninety percent chance it'll be fatal." Cain stopped a moment, took a deep breath and exhaled another short fit of wheezing. When he spoke again, he forced the words through his teeth. "But you will never break her spirit. I don't know what twisted game you have planned, but she'll beat you at it." A tiny sneer slipped past his lips. "And I can't wait to see the look on your face when she does."


	47. Chapter 36

Connor returned to the manor well into the night, but still early by the ordinary standards of his position that night. Ollie and he agreed criminal activity seemed low that night and he was still expected to help keep Cassandra busy as long as she was in their company. That, and he would have to soon tell her the trip had to be cut short. Work had limited his and Ollie's chance to mention it, but Bruce had made it clear he feared what lengths Lipov was prepared to go to to get Cassandra back to Gotham to settle his twisted game.

As usual, most of the lights throughout the Queen mansion were off for the night, but Connor frowned as he stepped through the front door. On the second level, in the den, it appeared, one light was still on.

In a quiet voice that could still travel, he gently called, "Hello?"

He ascended the staircase. Much of the house was still partially lit thanks to the large windows, but they all showed a blackish-blue. The den on the second floor was a pale yellow. He stepped into the den to find Cassandra seated upon a throw pillow from one of the couches in a lotus position.

"Cassandra?"

She opened her eyes and looked toward him, something like relief came over her tired face. "Hey."

Connor flinched. "Have you been up all night waiting for me?"

"Not all, some." Cassandra pushed off the ground. "Couldn't sleep. Need to go back."

"Back? You mean to Gotham?"

"He wants me." Cassandra said. "Lipov will keep hurting until he has me. Have to face him. Have to stop this."

Connor looked the weary yet exhilarated Cassandra up and down as he considered her words. "Are you feeling all right? This is a real shift from when I left."

Cassandra rubbed her forehead and clutched the elbow with her free hand. "Saw something. Did something. Saved someone." A tiny grin came across her face. "Maybe God brought me there."

"I still don't think I understand what you mean." Connor stepped closer. "What happened? Can you tell me?"

Cassandra looked up at him and set a hand on his shoulder, as he had so often done for her. "Hated myself for so long, before I believed. Then hated again. Me and others. Needed to learn to love again." She squeezed his shoulder. "You, Mia, Lian, Lupe, made me remember."

"Lupe?"

"Long story," Cassandra said. "Ran from myself, hurt people, did terrible things. Need to make it right." She bit her lower lip and looked downward. "With everyone. Including you."

"Me?" Connor's short responses were not making the matter any easier, but Cassandra accepted what had to be said.

"Connor…" She took a deep breath. No amount of repeating the words to herself mentally seemed as if they would make a difference. "I love you. Much as I can. Wanted… wanted this to work." She closed her eyes tight. "Not you. You're wonderful. Caring, sweet, kind—"

"But I'm not your type, am I?" Even a moment like the one they shared seemed to do nothing to break Connor's inner-calm. She couldn't pick up on anything in his reaction. "Because of my gender?"

"Not that," Cassandra said.

"No?"

"Wasn't ready for it to be over." It was a difficult pill for Cassandra to swallow. She almost wished Connor would sound upset, at least that would give her some sense of direction. "Still love her… Sadie."

He nodded slowly. "You know that even if you tell her that, she could still choose not to come back."

Every muscle in Cassandra's body clenched and she forced herself to match his nod. "I know. Can live with that. But has to heal before I try with anyone again." She faced him and, through the little trembles in her body, concluded, "I'm sorry, Connor."

To her surprise, Connor pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her tight and clutched the back of her head with one hand. In a mix of sadness and relief, Cassandra gently wept into his chest.

"Good answer," Connor said. "I don't know what happened, but I'm very glad it put you back on the right path."

Cassandra sniffled. "You're not mad?"

Connor stroked her hair. "To be honest, I figured you were using me as a coping mechanism from the start. I'm… really not any good when it comes to romance, but I thought another rejection would just make you even more miserable. So I played my part."

Cassandra pulled away from his chest and met his eyes with her own again. "If you were, would make someone very happy."

Connor shrugged. "Maybe I'll meet that someone someday. But if I don't, I think I'll be just fine. If you and Sadie don't work things out, give yourself some time. Be sad, mourn what was, whatever you need to do. But I hope you two do. It seemed like she made you so happy." He gave her a last pat on the shoulder.

The last tear Cassandra shed was one of gratitude. "Thank you. For everything."

"I told you before," Connor said. "I'm a Buddhist. My most important calling is to reduce suffering in the world." A small but satisfied grin crossed his lips. "I did something similar for Mia a while back, when she found it hard to love herself."

"Lucky to have you. All of us."

"You should get some rest," Connor said. 'We'll get you back to Gotham soon. I'll go with you."

Cassandra shook her head. "Not your fight."

"We heard from Bruce. Everything out there is getting more unstable. You'll need all the help you can get and Lipov won't be expecting me. Please, let me help you."

In spite of her initial refusal, she couldn't really think of any reason to resist, so she nodded slowly and, for the last time, uttered, "Thank you."

The next night Connor took Cassandra for a last trip to the Ghirardelli shop, where they each enjoyed a last sundae and she could have parting words with Lupe.

"I hope you come back someday," Lupe said. "I don't know how I can repay you for all you did for me, but maybe by then I can figure something out."

The Queen clan gathered early the following morning to see Cassandra and Connor off. Ollie wished them good luck, Dinah asked Cassandra to give her regards to Barbara next time she saw her. In spite of the aloofness that sometimes followed them, she managed to get a hug out of both Mia and Lian.

"Hit the bad guys extra hard for me, okay?" Mia said. "And stay in one peace. I wanna team up with you one of these days."

When Cassandra pulled away from the hug, she gave Mia a smile. "Take care of yourself. Feel better."

"Some days are worse than others. But I've been feeling better lately, so I'll try not to keep you waiting."

Little Lian wrapped her arms around Cassandra's waist. Despite the funny grumpiness she often showed, she said, "Bye bye 'Zandra. We'll miss you."

Cassandra tussled her hair a little. "Be good for Mia until daddy gets home. She deals with a lot already."

Much of the six and a half hour flight back to Gotham was passed by the two with sleep. Even high above the ground with the noise of the engines aboard Ollie's private jet, it was undoubtedly some of the best sleep Cassandra had had in too long.

-000-

"So sorry… to all of you. Made a mess of everything."

At four PM that evening, the tired but restless Cassandra stood in the center of the study within Wayne Manor. As a blaze roared in the fireplace and drinks of all sort sat on the chairside tables, the couches were filled to capacity by Bruce, Damian, Tim and Stephanie, while Alfred and Connor watched from the doorway. Her request to see them quickly became a demand from Bruce, as if any of them would have considered being absent anyway.

"Anger took control, took it out on all of you."

Cassandra was unsure if there had been a specific instruction that no one speak while she tried to make amends, but the most response she got was the quiet sipping of drinks.

She took a deep breath to steady herself and began. "Damian, sorry I didn't help you… wasn't a better friend. Or sister. Looked to me for help. I didn't give it."

Young Damian nodded slowly as she spoke. It was more response than she could have hoped for.

"Tim, Steph, sorry I pushed you away," she said. "Sorry I was so upset. Sorry I didn't listen when you wanted to help. Sorry I was mad at you for…." She paused to reach for words she was uncomfortable using, and eventually settled on, "Sorry I was mad at your happiness."

Tim patted Stephanie's knee and flashed her a thankful smile. Stephanie looked as if she was fighting back happy tears.

"Dad… turned on everything. What you taught me, what I believed." Cassandra cast her gaze downward. "Failed you. Failed to be an angel. I am so, so sorry."

All eyes slowly shifted to Bruce, who remained stone-faced and cross armed as she spoke. "As with your church, it isn't enough to just say you're sorry. Appeal is only the first step. The next is penance."

The sullen Cassandra nodded. "I know."

The Bat Family sat in silence for nearly a minute. No one really needed to hear Cassandra apologize when all was said and done, it was enough to know she was better. But she needed it for herself. She had to make things right again, or at least as right as she could.

"A verbal apology is only going to get us so far," Bruce said. "But there is a maniac who I have no doubt is ready to use his own underlings as suicide bombers to draw you out. I don't know what Lipov's endgame is, but I believe we might know any day now."

Cassandra nodded. "Will be ready."

"It may take every one of us to stop whatever Lipov's going to do next," Bruce said. "I don't have much choice but to let you back in the uniform at this point. Whether or not you'll be allowed to continue with it is going to depend on how you handle this situation."

The thought had crossed Cassandra's mind again and again since she had reclaimed her spirit. A plan percolated in the back of her mind, the one way she believed she could perhaps at least in part undo all of the damage she had done. But it was a risky strategy, too risky to talk about aloud. And if there was a better option, she was determined to think of it. But for the moment, she just said, "Thank you. So much."

Bruce rose from his seat and motioned to the rest. "You're all dismissed. I expect to see at least a few of you in the cave shortly."

Damian did everything in his power not to give the situation any emotion, but even he couldn't mask the tiny smile that crept across his face as he walked out. Tim and Stephanie both rose and hugged Cassandra one after the other.

"I was really hearing things second hand more than anything," Tim said. "But I'm so glad to have you back."

"Glad to be back." She squeezed Tim before she moved into an even tighter hug from Stephanie. "Thanks… never giving up on me."

"Aw come on, like you could ever be worth that," Stephanie said. "I know it hasn't been that long, but I'm glad you're home now. You really feeling that much better?"

"Much," Cassandra said. "Much better."

"… Then I've got something I feel I've got to tell you." As the two women loosened their grip on one another, Stephanie gave Cassandra a look that was at once pleased but also solemn. As if he recognized something in it. Tim stepped aside. "Is there anyone else you think you have to tell all this to?"

Cassandra sighed. "Two."

"Two people?"

She nodded. "Father Ryan and—"

"Woah, wait a minute." Tim stepped back over to the two. "The monsignor?" A frown was on his face and trouble was in his tone.

Stephanie took on the same characteristics. "Yeah, you're not serious about that, are you? You know, about where your feelings lie?"

Cassandra nodded. "Have to."

"Cassie, Father Ryan's a great guy, I believe that every bit as much as you do," Tim said. "But you know what's going to happen, don't you?"

Cassandra shut her eyes for a moment and shrugged. "Maybe not."

"I told you a year ago that he's exactly not who you want to talk to, I still mean it," Stephanie said.

"Can't live with this lie," Cassandra said. "Tired of it."

"If you're not careful about this, he might try to keep you from going back to Saint Michael's," Tim said. "I get that it's a tough thing to carry, but if you just stop it could turn out really bad for you."

"Who I am," Cassandra said. "If he can't accept it, I should know."

In desperation, Tim turned toward Stephanie, who to his surprise was nodding slowly.

"I don't know if I think this is a good idea, but it doesn't sound like we're going to talk you out of it," she said. "Hell, maybe I'd want the same thing if I was in your shoes."

Tim hesitated as he looked back and forth between the two and breathed a sigh as he looked toward his sister again. "If you're going to do it, I really pray it goes well."

"Thank you."

Silence overtook the three of them and, still stressed by the matter, Tim stepped away. When only Cassandra and Stephanie remained, the latter asked, "So the other person you wanted to talk to—"

"Do you… think she wants to?"

Stephanie smirked. "It so happens I was talking to her just the other day. Yeah, I think she'd like the chance to chat with you. Figure out where you stand, if nothing else."

"Miss me?"

"Yeah, a lot."

"Miss her too."


	48. Chapter 37

Less than twenty-four hours after Cassandra's return to Gotham, a seemingly innocuous letter arrived at Wayne Manor. The envelop was standard and store bought, the weight was appropriate and it bore only one stamp. But there was no return address given, only a name tiny, well-written cursive. Lipov.

Bruce tore it open as soon as Alfred offered it and scowled. Within the envelop was a greeting card that depicted an infant asleep in a crib as the moon shown brightly outside and a cross hung just above. In playful, printed writing, the card said, "For your little angel."

It took Bruce a moment to shake the tastelessness of the joke from his head before he opened the card. Its inner-contents were straightforward.

Tuesday, the future sight of the Wellspring of Hope Christian Church. Send her alone.

The five children under my employ have outlived their usefulness. They will be scattered across the city and if there is any attempt to interfere, I'll detonate their suits. Maybe take out a few nearby buildings in the process.

You don't like to see people die, Mr. Wayne. Do your part. I only want the girl.

Tuesday was a mere three days away. If Lipov was as deranged as everything implied, there would be no point in trying to confront him in the skeleton-church before his given time. And if he did set off the detonators in the Reapers' suits, they and anyone nearby, maybe buildings full of people, were subject to be killed in the process.

But Stephanie and Tim had been hard at work decoding the information within the flash drive Figment had given them. That could prove to be the one factor Lipov didn't know about.

Time was short. There were preparations to be made.

-000-

"In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. One month since my last confession."

In spite of her past experiences within Saint Michael's confessionary booth, the tiny room seemed so foreign to Cassandra from the opposite side of the screen. With every past admission of sin, she had been willing to go to the monsignor with at least enough confidence to face him personally. After the madness that had taken place over the recent weeks, she was too fragile. She wanted to know his reaction, but wasn't positive she could handle seeing the expressions that may cross his aging face when they came. Father Ryan was a friend, she didn't want to see him hurt. Even if he did end up hurting her back.

Cassandra knelt on the tiny pew before the screen that separated the two of them in the tiny red confessionary. It felt so much less confining when she could see the monsignor, but that was a discomfort she would have to live with. For his part, Father Ryan recognized her voice from the first words. It troubled him just slightly to know she had chosen to sit on the opposite side of the screen for the first time, but he said nothing of it.

"Heavenly Father, whomever you forgive anything, so do I. For indeed what I have forgiven, if I have forgiven anything, has been for you in the presence of Christ, Amen." Silence took them briefly before he added, "Whatever your petitions to the Lord, please state them."

Cassandra bowed her head low. "I have sinned. Went against God's plan. Am so, so sorry."

"… I am almost certain of who I am speaking to," Father Ryan said. "You may tell me no, if you wish, it would defeat much of the purpose of the screen, but may I address you directly? I just want to better understand what you're saying or what you're about to say."

Cassandra dipped her head down further and contemplated. She was unsure of the answer for herself and hesitated long enough she appeared to supply nothing.

"Well, if this is who I think it is, you came to me with a rather substantial confession last time. I can only wonder at this point what you have to say after that."

"Hurt them. People I love. Didn't pray for people I fought." A shudder ran through Cassandra's body as she remembered the worst of the moments from those weeks. "… Anger took me. Fought someone, could have stopped. Didn't."

Father Ryan nodded slowly to himself through a furrowed brow as Cassandra kept talking. He'd never heard her overwhelmed with such hesitation and struggle before. The thought passed his mind to walk into her side of the confessional and try to say something comforting, but he remained in place. She had chosen to face him privately, he had to respect that wish. "So you've hurt people. Worse even then your work entails… again, if I'm speaking to the person I think I am."

"Only wanted to help people. Lost myself on the way." For a moment, Cassandra considered speaking of the horrific night against Zsasz. But she decided she wasn't ready. Not yet, maybe not ever. Perhaps she would one day have to confess that sin. But maybe remembering that she'd committed it for the rest of her life was penance enough. "Too driven by hate, not enough by love."

"Hatred is a powerful tool of the devil's," Father Ryan said. "God is love, as it is said."

Cassandra held her hands together tight and braced for what would come next. "Father… I love someone. Tried hardest to stop, believed it was sinful, but couldn't." The first tear ran down her cheek. "Even if I can't fix it, I live with it. Still love her."

In spite of all of his hopes and prayers, Father Ryan was fairly confident that was what he was going to hear. "Are you confessing to absolve those feelings?"

"No." Cassandra wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Confessing I hated her and myself. Want to be forgiven for that."

The monsignor held his hands together and bowed his head in contemplation as she steeled herself for his response. In his gentlest voice, he said, "Cassandra?"

She replied with a tiny sniffle.

Father Ryan took in a deep breath. "It's not easy being a member of the clergy, you know." He rubbed at his temple and shook his head. "Though maybe it's easier than it probably should be."

"What do you mean?"

"For some, it's easy to just say you already have all the answers. God already told us what constitutes sin, far be it from us to ask any questions of our maker… but a good priest should be more than a means of pointing to Biblical passages. We're supposed to understand our parishioners and their struggles. Sometimes that's the hardest thing in the world."

"Father—"

"I've never been in a marriage where regret has taken the place of happiness. I've never had to work anything out with a spouse at all. But divorce is sinful, so I'm to do everything in my power to keep it from happening. That's a very difficult thing to do."

Cassandra was about the respond, but it seemed the monsignor wasn't finished yet, so she waited.

"Life begins at conception, I believe that in my heart and with my soul. But no woman who's ever come to me faced with a pregnancy they didn't ask for or a terrible choice they made has been a monster to me. I know what I am to say and what I believe, but I have never been in that agonizing position. The Lord gave us empathy, Cassandra, and it never makes the life of the empathizer any easier. But it does make life better."

It all felt as if Father Ryan was avoiding the issue at hand. Cassandra needed whatever response she could get out of him. "Tried to love a boy. A good friend. Maybe I can. But couldn't then. Heart was somewhere else." She opened her eyes and looked at the screen intently enough it was as if she was trying to look through to the other side. "Could God call that a sin?"

"I think you and I already know what my answer to that question is going to be."

Cassandra shut her eyes and bowed her head again. She was ready for that response, she wouldn't let herself cry over it.

"Per canon law, one cannot accept Holy Communion while in a state of sin. If you act on these feelings, I am not to allow you to accept the Body and Blood."

Cassandra bit her lip and held her grip tight. She refused to let those circumstances get the better of her.

But then Father Ryan quietly scoffed to himself. "Living in a state of sin… aren't we all doing that? Are we to confess all of our sins every Sunday before we accept Holy Eucharist? If so, even I'm not doing it right."

She perked up a little and looked toward the screen. Again, but with a new inflection she asked, "Father?"

"Canon says those who miss a week of mass shouldn't receive communion, am I to keep a record book? The Lord said not to mix types of fabric, should I be checking everyone's garments? Maybe it is a sin of my own, but will not refuse my parishioners for these matters. No one is worthy of the Body and Blood of Christ, that is why it isn't a reward. It is a gift."

Cassandra drank in those words for a long minute. Father Ryan hadn't given her his blessing or given his permission to disregard the traditions and ideas she was defying. On some level, it did still hurt that he still viewed her as a sinful for her feelings. But he wasn't going to punish her for them and it seemed clear enough he still cared about her very much. He still had a duty to perform, but it seemed as if he'd be perfectly content if he no longer had to enforce that aspect. It wasn't a great response, but it was probably better than Cassandra hoped for.

She raised her hand to the little slot at about eye-level that was between them, pulled it aside and faced the old priest. His look was much the same as hers: at once tainted by sadness and compromise, but doing everything in his power to remain hopeful.

"Thank you."

-000-

With the threat of her confrontation with Lipov and the Odmience on the horizon, Cassandra struggled with when the time would be right to make her final amends. If the battle didn't go right, if her opponent proved his superiority, if the plans that percolated in the back of her mind didn't work, the girl she was about to heap so much on would have to deal with her death. That wasn't something she wanted to put on anyone, even with the many who would already be thinking about it.

But, as she sat in faux-leather on one of the swings across from the big metal playground designed to look like a rocket ship, this would be one more motivator. One more reason to get out alive, no matter what.

Cassandra didn't move from the seat as the beat-up, French fry-smelling car parked. It was cool and dreary outside again, but at least that was more typical of the season. The playground sat empty, it was nice to know no one would be interrupting them this time. The second party was wearing an almost identical brown leather jacket and her hair was as short as Cassandra had ever seen it.

She stopped for a moment at the swings and looked down. "Is that one of my coats?"

"Cassandra managed a small smile. "You left it."

"I'd been meaning to ask about that, but that seemed like a really crappy place to try talking to you again." Sadie sat down in the next swing over and kicked the ground just enough for a few inches of movement. "So anyway, hey."

"Hey," Cassandra said. "Not sure you'd come."

"Had to think about it for a while after I got the instructions from Steph. Wasn't the easiest thing to do." Sadie shrugged. "Not the hardest either."

"She said you wanted to talk to me," Cassandra said.

"I did. But it seemed really obvious you didn't want to hear anything I had to say."

Cassandra looked toward the ground and bit her lip. "Things were… strange after you left."

The two shared a silence for a minute save for the _creak_ of the swings as each moved back and forth. Sadie took a deep breath and a long exhale. "Are they still strange now?"

"Yes," Cassandra said. "But not the same."

Sadie mustered half of a smile that spoke to an internal struggle more than anything else. "We're not going to get anywhere if we don't talk about what happened."

Cassandra's response was delayed behind continued hesitation, but at last she asked the first question. "Did you really leave… because…"

Sadie stepped in when she hesitated. "Because of the sex? Or lack thereof?"

Cassandra nodded.

"Yes and no." Sadie kicked a little harder at the ground to build up some momentum. "Being rejected hurt, but I've never gone into a relationship thinking it wasn't going to hurt sometimes. The sex was the domino that made me think we just really weren't on the same wavelengths."

Cassandra nodded again and looked away. "You said we were too different."

"We are different," Sadie said. "Doesn't make you bad, doesn't make me bad, we're just different."

"I loved you. You loved me."

Sadie pinched the bridge of her nose. "How is this you and me thing supposed to work if that gut feeling is all we have to go off of? I'm getting ready to graduate and you've never been to public school a day in your life, I picked everything we ever did and it seemed like you just smiled and went along with it. Cassie, you go to church every Sunday when absolutely no one's telling you to. I quit trying to be religious before I even came out of the closet. I know you've told me that doesn't bother you, but how doesn't it?"

Cassandra gripped the swing's chain a little tighter. "I tried believing like that. Like the angry believers do. I didn't feel any better."

"Steph kind of alluded to that," Sadie said. "That you apparently went off the deep end for a while."

"Was afraid. Very confused."

"I'm not going to ask for details, but it sounds like everything I was always afraid of."

Cassandra pressed her feet against the ground and stopped swinging. "Afraid of?"

Sadie sighed. "Yeah. I felt scared the whole time we were dating that sooner or later, it wouldn't be okay with you anymore. Whether it was your idea or not, you'd have to choose between me or your religion, and I really didn't like my odds."

"I told you—"

"I heard you. I heard you every time you said you'd find a way so you didn't have to choose. And I really wanted to believe you. But I never quit being afraid I was just going to be a story about how you beat your baser instincts and gosh darn it, all you had to do was stay determined and you could pray the gay away. Something you'd tell your twelve kids someday."

In spite of everything, Cassandra let out a single, stifled laugh.

"You like that one?"

"Twelve kids?"

"Or you'd be a nun. I can believe either scenario." For a moment the two were quiet again, though the atmosphere was far less tense than before. Within a minute, Sadie asked, "Cassie, do you like boys?"

"You mean—"

"Like me. Yeah."

For a moment, her mind drifted back to Connor. "Yes."

"Than what are you wasting your time with me for?" Sadie asked. "You can keep following all your rules and still go off with somebody you can feel something for. Why are you trying to fix this thing with me when you've clearly got a better option?"

"Tried to change," Cassandra said. "Tried to bury everything we had. Was with someone a while, liked him. But I never forgot you. Never stopped missing you. Always wanted to make it right with you again."

The two of them sat quietly as they swung back and forth. The breeze was gentle, their movements were tiny. After what seemed like a long time, Sadie set her foot on the ground and slowed her rocking to a halt. Cassandra did the same.

"Listen Cassie, I'm going away next year. I can't just not go to my dream school over something I don't even know is going to work."

Cassandra breathed a heavy sigh and dropped her head. "I understand."

The moment passed as if there was nothing left to be said, before Sadie exhaled too. "But we're not living in the sixteenth century. You know how to work a cell phone, you know how to email… I don't have to look for anybody new while I'm gone."

Sadie slid her hand from one of the swing chains and gently wrapped it around Cassandra's. When she looked up, her smile was messy, but it was there.

"I don't know if we can want the same things. I don't know if this is gonna be a forever thing. But I've missed you too."

"Maybe I don't need forever right now," Cassandra said.

Hand still tight with Cassandra's, Sadie rose from the swing and looked down at her. "Let's make sure we are on the same wavelength this this time. I've got a couple thoughts I think are fair, I wanna run them by you."

Cassandra nodded. "Okay."

"The first thing is, I won't try having sex with you again. You weren't into it, you have your own reasons, I need to respect them—"

Cassandra nodded again.

"I wasn't done." Sadie paused until she stopped. "Part two is that if you change your mind, your outlook, whatever, you'll tell me."

Cassandra gave her a small frown. "You think I will?"

"People change their minds about things. I'd just like you to be open to the possibility."

It took a few seconds of thought, but Cassandra decided nothing would come of it as long as she didn't let it. "All right."

Sadie pushed Cassandra's hands back a little and got the swing gently moving again. "And you also have to agree not to pressure me with the marriage thing until I'm out of college. We're both still young, life still has a lot of other plans for us and we still have a lot of other plans for it."

Cassandra couldn't keep quiet. "But—"

"And part two of that one is I reserve the right to amend it if I want to," Sadie said. "If I decide I do want to be in something more permanent, I promise I'll tell you."

As she swung back and forth, Cassandra struggled with the mixed feelings she was being asked to accept. She knew she had said she would distance herself from making things too serious too quickly, but it was hard to let go of the thought. Then again, Sadie was making a sacrifice of her own.

"And lastly." Sadie pushed as Cassandra moved forward and pulled as she moved back. The swing was brought to a stop again. "We make our time together special. We listen, we support, we show one another how we really feel."

The words brought the smile back to Cassandra's face as she stood up. She clasped her hands behind Sadie's head as she wrapped her own around Cassandra's waist.

"Deal."

"Let's seal it then."

For the first time since the night at Sadie's house, Cassandra shared a kiss without any sadness to it. Not everything was resolved, they would surely find new challenges they would have to overcome. But they had one another. In that moment, it was enough.


	49. Chapter 38

Six bodies were assembled in the Batcave just as dusk settled on the city outside. Bruce stood next to Tim as he punched a last few lines into the central computer. Cassandra, Stephanie, Connor and Damian all watched and listened as he worked.

"That flash drive Figment gave Steph is gonna take this whole thing apart," Tim said. "Passcodes into their tracking systems, instructions for deactivating those bombs, he really did hand us everything on a silver platter."

Damian had remained indignant. "And you really don't think this is some kind of trap?"

"What sense would that make?" Stephanie said. "If Lipov wanted to kill us, he could have set them off when we were at Gram's house. If he wanted to kill Bruce, he'd have just done it the other night."

"They are sick of him." Cassandra folded her arms. "Never wanted this."

"Yeah, Cassie's right," Stephanie said. "They were petty bullies and crooks before Lipov got his hands on them. I don't think they like this kidnapping thing and I really doubt they like the idea of being used as living bombs."

"Disarming them is going to be a two-part thing," Tim said. "I've got five flash sticks up here based on the design documents we pulled and were given. You should be able to install them in a slot near the throat. That'll disable the protections around the deactivation hardware. Then you should just have to cut a few specific cables around the stomach. I'll send those over everyone's cowls and transmitters.

Stephanie picked up one of the flash sticks Tim referred to and gave it a little toss between her hands. "And technology beats these guys again."

As Bruce and Damian approached their secret weapons on the table, Connor cleared his throat and spoke up. "Mr. Wayne, do I have your permission for what I requested?"

"Hm? I thought we'd agreed on that." Bruce turned to face the assembled party. "I'm going to handle two of the disarmings myself. Connor has volunteered to accompany Cassandra and provide her backup."

Damian scowled. "Lipov is using the bombs to ward off interference, and you're sending him in when we're all going to be point blank at the blast site?"

"Lipov won't be watching for Connor," Bruce said. "His track record back in Star City is excellent. He won't be taking any action unless he can help Cassandra without hurting us."

Connor smiled. "I appreciate that trust, Mr. Wayne. I won't let you down."

At last, still stonefaced, Bruce looked toward Cassandra. "We're already surrendering a possible advantage by facing them on their own terms. The two of them, maybe more than any other opponent you've ever encountered, are out to kill you."

Cassandra nodded a solemn nod. "I know."

"If you encounter the people the Reapers kidnapped, do what you can to save them. But keep your mind on survival first. Do not let them get the better of you."

Cassandra's most recent experiences had planted a firm intention in her mind. She knew how she intended to settle her battle with the Odmience, even if she hadn't breathed a word of it to anyone else. So she just gave him a nod.

Stephanie came up behind her and slapped her on the back. "You heard the big man. Come back in once piece, that's an order!"

-000-

For as many times as Cassandra had ventured into the part of Gotham on the edge of suburbia where the Wellspring of Hope sat, its context was greatly altered. Most, though not all of the machinery, was silent. The wooden frame of the church, as it had seemed, had indeed not been worked on for months. Just how Lipov managed to snatch the property from its contractors and how he could hwve done so for so long was beyond Cassandra, but audacious, overly-elaborate plots seemed to be what Lipov knew best.

The outside of the huge building was a bright enough white it showed clearly in the night and out from the front protruded a triangular shape. She had to assume Connor would come in around the back, but she would need to make her entrance and have Lipov distracted before he could make any move. There were barriers erected all along the outside warning that it was a hardhat only zone, which Cassandra slipped past. At least one light was visibly on within the megachurch, which was what she approached. Through the front entrance was a large, open space along with a number of half-constructed walls meant to form side rooms. What all of the space was supposed to be for Cassandra couldn't imagine. She moved quickly toward the single light in the center chamber.

She supposed the room was meant to be the worship space itself, but even that was dubious to her understanding. The central space was a massive room that inclined downward in a circle, like a movie theater, with a raised stage at the center. Dozens of collapsible orange scaffoldings were set up all around the room and planks of wood were leaned up against the walls. It stank of gasoline and sawdust and somewhere overhead, in the area high above that was too dark to see, there was a faint, moan-like sound. At the center of the stage, standing near a series of levers and illuminated by the single light overhead, stood Lipov. And to his right, bound and beaten, was David Cain.

Angel shuddered at the sounds overhead, but concluded she had to placate Lipov if she wanted any answers. As she approached, stepped to the side and slapped Cain on the back.

"At long last," Lipov said. "Our guest of honor has arrived. Call out a big 'Hello!' to your little angel, David."

In more of a grunt than words, Cain said, "Go to hell."

"You first." Lipov flashed his best faux-genteel smile toward Angel. "I've waited your entire life for this, Cassandra. I hope you've made peace with your loved ones, because you'll never see them again."

"One question." Angel marched down the aisles, between the scaffoldings, toward the center stage. "One thing before it begins."

Lipov cocked an eyebrow and chuckled. "I'll permit it. What?"

"If you win, what then?"

The old warrior clasped his hands together and massaged his knuckles. "What then?"

"Years trying to kill us. And then what?"

Lipov shrugged and paced a little. "I've asked myself that a lot, you know. You obviously have powerful allies I'd prefer not to deal with. Maybe if I delivered your heads to the League of Assassins, Ra's al Ghul would forgive me for my past transgressions. Or maybe he'd kill me too. To be honest, I don't really care what happens next. This moment is all that matters."

"And Rafal?"

Lipov frowned. "Who?"

"The boy."

That brought the smile back to his face. "No, call him by his true name. Call him what he is." When Angel didn't respond for a few seconds, Lipov went on. "He'll get his reward. I'll free him from this miserable world and end his wretched existence. It's all that would ever appeal to a monster like him."

"You're wrong," Angel said. "I wasn't a monster. Neither is he."

"Monster is too gentle a word." Lipov extended one arm toward the darkness on his right. "He is a demon who was put where the child once laid. He is a weapon sharpened to a fine point and a singular purpose." He paused to serve his own bravado. "He is an Odmience."

Out from the shadows a figure stumbled and fell to the ground. It took Angel a few seconds to recognize him as Cameron Gram. Just behind him, cloaked in shadow until he stepped under the floodlights, the Odmience followed. He and Angel locked glares.

"The last member of our little company is here." Lipov smirked toward Gram as he pushed to his feet.

Gram glared toward the Odmience before shifting his focus to Lipov. "All right, I've had enough of this already! What in the world is going on here—"

Lipov pulled a handgun out from his coat and silenced Gram as he cocked it. "No need to be so hostile, Minister Gram. I'm only seeking guidance." Lipov paused as if he expected Gram, with his eyes wide and hands over his head, to reply. When he didn't, he resumed. "You'll have to forgive me, I was born in communist Russia, you see. He who saves was not a figure in my life until very recently."

"And you're saying while pulling a gun on me?!"

Whenever Angel could chance a look toward Lipov and Gram, she did. But the Odmience was just waiting for some distraction to show. The moment she was open, he would attack. If she wasn't ready, he was going to kill her for sure this time.

"I just wanted to confirm what I heard you say was true," Lipov said. "That the kingdom of God is only waiting for those who have given themselves to Christ. Only Christians should be welcomed, in this world or the next. Is that accurate?"

Gram continued to fume at his situation, but in his exacerbation answered, "Yes."

Lipov, with the weapon still raised, stepped over to the first of the levers on his platform. "Good to know. You stick to what you believe, I appreciate that in a man." He took hold of the lever and yanked it back.

First came a _creak_. Then perhaps five sounds like a _snikt_. And every muffled moan from above grew louder and formed into a shrill line of screams. Angel looked upward as Lipov flipped a switch and briefly blinded her with a new string of floodlights overhead. When her eyes adjusted, they went wide with horror.

Dozens, maybe forty people in total, struggled for balance on the enormous lighting rig high above center stage. With their hands bound behind their backs and gags over their mouths, everyone stood as still as they could manage, because nooses were tied around all of their necks. The lever Lipov pulled opened five of the hatches they stood upon. High above the center of the church, five unfortunate souls kidnapped from the Mosque hung.

"No!" Angel ran toward the stage in a sprint.

Gram squinted at the captives in the rafter and his jaw went slack with horror.

Handgun in one hand, remote in the other, Lipov stepped over to the next lever and commanded, "Zabij ją!"

Angel had given up her place in the stance. The Odmience drew his blade, leaped from his spot and swung at her. She was fast enough to draw her own and the two locked blades for a moment before they seperated and each took a last moment to consider the other.

"I think it's really my finest work, don't you, little angel?" Lipov laughed as he ran a hand over the lever he'd pulled, stroked it in a caress and looked toward the others. "It's my gift to you. A chance to see the toxicity within your precious faith. First your belief, then your body, I want to see it all pounded to dust!"

Angel looked back and forth between the captives on the lighting rig and the Odmience. She desperately wanted to save everyone Lipov had captured, but there was no way her opponent would permit it. She had to go through him first. She raised her sword and the two ran at one another again.

One way or another, the battle between Cain and Lipov was about to end.


	50. Chapter 39

"What a poor little lost soul we have here, wouldn't you say, Minister?" Lipov leered over Angel and the Odmience as their blades clashed again and again. Strikes were thrown aside, parries were blocked at the last moment, neither surrendered any ground for more than a second. "Doesn't she know she doesn't have to weep for them? Didn't you teach her they had already been rejected?"

With some struggle, Gram managed to wet the inside of his mouth to speak again. "I never said to run around killing people! This isn't what I meant at all!"

"No?" Lipov tilted his head in faux-confusion. "What did you mean when you said their beliefs were incompatible with your country's then? That you should just leave them to kill one another in wars in the desert? They were already here and this method was much cheaper, I assure you."

Angel and the Odmience rushed and pushed back one another in a constant dance for control. Neither managed a direct blow across their many swings, steel clanged against steel as both searched for an opening the other refused to provide.

"There are plenty more people to punish up there, Minister. Who do you suppose should be next?"

With the gun still pointed at him, Gram went into a shaking silence.

For all his talk of wanting to beat Cain at his own game, Lipov was cheating. Angel couldn't allot all of her attention to the Odmience when she was also struggling for how to save Lipov's captives. After the Odmience threw her from one of the blade locks, she drew her grappling hook. Maybe if she could reach the rafters, she could help the people trapped above. The Odmience closed the distance, knocked her to the floor with a tackle and knocked the grappling hook out of her hand after she'd fired it.

Lipov laughed, "That was just pathetic! What were you going to do you got up there? I can see your every move." He turned toward the silent and quivering Gram. "Who shall we punish next, Minister? Perhaps the immigrants who ruined their own land and have come to ruin yours? Maybe those godless Sodomites?"

The Odmience raised his fist high. His close proximity made Angel nervous to attempt any piece of her endgame, but she needed to take advantage of the moment. She pulled a batarang from her belt, blade-side out and swung it across the Odmience's throat. Her opponent grabbed at the wound, a little blood trickled, but Angel judged from the resistance she had mostly just cut through his costume. She released the hand still on her sword, grabbed and raked across the Odmience's eyes. He grabbed at them in pain as Angel forced him off.

"Let them all down from there!" The way the shakes forced their way into Gram's voice spoke of the fear he felt, and not just for himself. "I didn't say this, I didn't want any of this!"

"I heard you the first time," Lipov said. "You're a lot more fun on the radio." He stepped over to another of the levers. "The Communists out from China, perhaps?"

The reach of Lipov's arm lit a fire in Angel's belly. She threw the Odmience out of her way, drew another batarang and ran toward Lipov.

"Well, this one first." Lipov turned the pistol toward Angel and pulled the trigger. Her foresight was enough to anticipate where it would hit the ground and dodged the shot. She threw the batarang toward his gun hand, but Lipov lowered it in time. "Five then."

Lipov yanked back on the lever.

Angel screamed, "No!"

The Odmience got a handful of her hair, wrenched her backward and smashed her against one of the scaffoldings. Though it hurt, her eyes were shut tight in anticipation of the terrible _snap_. But none came.

Lipov frowned and looked upward. "What the?"

Even held against the scaffolding, Angel dared to look up as well. Another five trapdoors in the lighting rig had indeed opened and bodies had fallen through them, but there were no hanging corpses to speak of. Others on both sides of the execution line hand joined hands as best as they were able, the combined force enough to hold the next five would-be victims from falling to their doom.

Lipov stomped his foot. "God damnit, you're ruining the game!" He pointed the handgun upward and fired off two rounds, but poor lighting caused him to miss.

Angel managed a moment of relief before the Odmience smashed his fist into her, once in the gut, again in the face. As she fought back the pain, she reeled back her head and crashed it into his own. Both were briefly dazed and fought back pain, but Angel was more prepared. One hook, then another to his face before the Odmience found strength enough to catch his fist and twisted it. With two fingers of her free hand, Angel thrust into his throat and forced him off. The demon retreated backwards and grabbed not only his own sword, but Angel's as well.

Despite his rush with the two swords, Angel glared at him, remained in place and only dodged when he swung. The Odmience _clanged_ the two swords into the scaffolding as Angel dodged him at the last moment and threw a series of pressure-point strikes into one of his arms. The Odmience released his own sword, which she caught and raised to parry the swing from the dulled katana. Angel tried to get ahold of the hole she'd cut into his costume, but the Odmience dodged backwards before she could.

Angel looked down at the sword in her hand and shuddered. If she wasn't careful, she would claim another life, possibly even her own if she didn't keep it balanced properly. She and the Odmience moved in small jumps and fake outs for a few seconds before he swung and she blocked again.

"Well, this is taking too long." Impatience was thick in Lipov's voice as he moved over to the next of his levers and glared toward Angel. "Sodomites it is."

Angel screamed, "Gram! Be the man of God you say you are!"

Gram flinched. From his perspective, he'd been in a daze since the first set of hangings. He was disoriented, he was confused. But the words of the girl he had so long despised snapped him back to lucidity. He slowly looked between her and up at Lipov.

Lipov threw back his head and laughed. "Really? You're calling on your too pious friend for aid now? Just how mindless are—"

As he reached for the switch, he was interrupted. The minister knocked him to the ground with a tackle. The gun flew out from Lipov's hand as the terrified preacher held him against the floor.

"I told you that's enough!" Despite his racing heart, Gram held on tight.

For a moment Lipov gnashed his teeth with disgust. "You fool!" Then he shifted the look to a grin. "Are you really so quick to abandon your principles?"

"These aren't my principles!"

"Then why did you make it so easy to be misunderstood on the radio?" Lipov punched him twice in the face and forced him off. Gram struggled to regain his sense of equilibrium as Lipov got back to his feet.

As Angel threw off a slash from the Odmience, she shouted toward Gram, "The gun!"

Lipov was already scrambling up for it, but Gram kicked it out of his reach and stepped into his way.

The old assassin snarled as he looked up at the preacher. "You don't want this, you little son of a bitch."

"The Angel said something that got me." Gram slapped his chest over his heart. "I have a role to play. If it was my sins that endangered all these people, I have to help save them."

From just before them, Cain laughed at the sheer absurdity.

Lipov spat at his feet. "You're going to pray for death."

From the floor, Angel saw as Lipov laid the first few fierce blows into Gram's face. She cringed and was desperate to help him, but the Odmience's slashes had already forced her onto the defensive. She overstepped a parry as the Odmience dodged to the side and smacked her hands with the dulled katana. As Angel clenched in pain, she released the sword and the Odmience abandoned the dull blade to remain his own. Angel got ahold of her own weapon in time to block his next slash, but the one after it cut into her cheek and she yelled as she backed up and held the wound. She was on the edge of exhaustion. Of all her opponents, Gotham's criminal clans, the immortal Seraphim, her own near-unstoppable mother, he was perhaps the most skilled and ruthless.

 _Please_ , she pleaded internally. _Jesus, God, my savior. For them. Save them. Save all of us_.

She looked again at the lighting fixtures and double took. Of the five who had been dropped and supported by their companions, two had been pulled back onto the platform. The closest to the trapdoors even stood with freed hands. She squinted and, as she raised her sword and caught the Odmience's slash, she could have wept with joy.

Green Arrow had slipped into the church and was hard at work freeing Lipov's captives above.

 _Thank you._

-000-

Jillian Miranda Fanning sat confined in what had once been her own dorm room at Gotham University. It sat empty since her expulsion and her former roommates were all out for the night, but Lipov thought it was a place no one would look for her. She was pinned to the floor in the hot pink Miranda armor she had come to loathe, forced in place with Lipov's electrical shocks and the threat he'd gladly set off all the explosives running through the suit. The armor had been switched off, it was too heavy to move in and too awkward to remove manually. She was aware she was probably waiting for death either way, she really didn't think she had any more tears to cry over the matter, but she did anyway.

Jill never knew why she'd been selected to test out the armor or what the company that sent it in the first place hoped she'd accomplish. And she'd always looked at Lipov with complete suspicion. He'd assured her and her comrades again and again that if they cooperated he wouldn't hurt them or the people they captured. No one would really be harmed, he was just orchestrating a kidnapping scheme for a greater end he couldn't tell them about. She knew it was bull, but she went along with it anyway.

So she was waiting to die by a series of explosives built into the suit she'd used to help rob banks and kidnap innocents. It was a cruel fate, but it didn't strike her as unfair.

She wasn't fazed when she heard the main door of the dormitory open. She knew she probably should have tried to make a commotion and convince whoever had come to run for their lives. But she was too exhausted by everything.

Jill only looked up when she heard the door of her own bedroom rattle a little. She flinched when she heard one loud _bang_ against it and then another until it flew open. There, garbed in the same black and purple she'd come to hate so much, stood Batgirl.

Her eyes went wide. "What the hell?"

Batgirl slipped something, it looked to be a small flash drive, out of her utility belt. "Hey there. I need to get at your neck."

Jill clenched. "What? What are you doing here? You know Lipov's got a switch he's itching to flip to blow me to bits, right?"

"Yeah, obviously." Batgirl bent down and scanned the armor. "I'm here to rescue you."

Jill flinched as Batgirl bent down and poked at a slot. As she slipped in the flash stick. "Careful!"

Batgirl looked up and their eyes met. "Trust me, okay? I know you're freaked out, but your buddy gave me the instructions to defuse your suit."

"My buddy?"

"Yeah. The one who multiples. The one I saw get thrown out a window."

Jill's look widened, a little smile came across her face and she shook her head. "Richie, you wonderful little bastard."

"Okay, so the flash stick is disabling some of the suit's defenses, but we've gotta give it a minute or two," Batgirl said.

The two sat for a few seconds as tiny whirling sounds emanated from the Miranda armor. "So, what? Back in the slammer as soon as this is over?"

"Well, that kind of depends on a couple of things," Batgirl said. "But I'm pretty sure none of you actually had any interest in this kidnapping plot, right?"

"It was the old man's idea," Jill said. "He electroshocked the living hell out of us to do what he said. That part was all him, he just said he could get us back out of prison."

"And you were getting coerced via electroshocks before, right?"

Jill couldn't tell why she sounded off, but the question sounded a little slower than she'd have expected. "What? No. We were—"

"Are you sure?" She was still talking slow. "Because if you guys were wearing these suits of armor and were basically tortured into robbing banks along with kidnapping people, the legal system might be a little more lenient on you."

Jill's heart pounded in her chest as the mechanisms loosed within her suit and a panel at the stomach dropped to reveal its inner workings. "Why are you doing this? Me and the other Reapers tried to kill you guys. Like, a bunch of times."

"I got a solid reminder from my best friend." Batgirl slipped a pair of clippers from her belt and leaned in to cut the wires. "Sometimes anger just leads to more anger. I beat the snot out of you guys, you came back with a vengeance. So I'm trying something different this time." As she cut the first wire, she raised and shook the cutters at Jill. "And hopefully you'll all learn to behave yourselves after this.

-000-

With Arrow above, Cassandra could concentrate on below.

When their swords clashed again the Odmience sensed Angel's renewed resolve. In the midst of their sword lock she looked into his icy blue eyes and quietly said, "Rafal."

He acknowledged the name with little but a tiny twitch of one of his eyes, but Angel saw it. Her entire childhood had been spent identifying anything that could be a potential chink in her opponent's armor. The name still troubled him, he had given it away.

The Odmience slashed at her neck, Angel repelled the blow and swung at his side, another twitch was visible in his eyes. He pushed past the pain, struck Angel in the face and knocked her backwards. The Odmience pursued her as her cheek began to swell, but she parried his next strike, reversed her grip and smashed the base of her katana against his stomach. Within his facemask the Odmience wheezed and gasped for breath. The moment to regain his composure was time enough for Angel to grab the cut in the costume she'd made in his throat and yank it up over his face. As if in retaliation, the Odmience clawed upward for her eyes and ripped her domino mask off in the process.

Angel retreated backward, felt where the mask had been and momentarily considered the troublesome loss before she concluded she had no time to worry about it. The pale, hairless, scar-ridden boy only a few months older than her glared across the small divide.

"You're not a monster, Rafal," Angel said. "If you don't want to be one."

By the micro-expressions that twitched across his face, it was clear he at least partially understood what she was saying. Tiny spasms and convulsions ran up and down his arms as he reached to pull the mask back on, but Angel interrupted the motion with a rush. With only one free hand, he was unprepared when Angel brought the katana down on his sword and knocked it from him. She followed with a pair of two-fingered strikes to his chest that contorted his expression and an open palm to the nose that forced him backward. The boy grabbed at his face, grit his teeth and tried to feel for blood through his gloves.

"Don't want this!" Angel threw open her arms. "Let it stop."

On the center of the stage, Lipov threw a battered Gram next to the chair Cain remained tied to and scoffed. "What do you think this is, girl? This is not something you can appeal to. He's not a creature with empathy. I didn't make your father's mistakes."

"He doesn't control you—"

He stepped back to the edge of the stage and grabbed his gun. "Get back to work! Get on with it!"

As if to match her renewed fervor the Odmience ran at Angel, dodged the next swing of her sword and got ahold of one of her arms. Fueled by the anger Lipov had thrust upon him, he began to twist Angel's arm. The heroine forced down a shout of pain as her hand opened and the dulled katana hit the ground. As she anticipated a sickening crack, she stomped on the Ormience's foot, the force enough to make him loosen his grip. Angel reeled around to face him, both clenched their fists save for two fingers as they faced one another again.

Even the flexible but durable armor they both wore was unprepared for the barrage of pressure point strikes the two thrust into one another. Both of their defenses had dropped, within moments both gnashed their teeth and struggled to stand upright. Their arms and legs cooperated, but only with force that had to be pulled from their assaults. Neither could throw another attack with their bodies so overwhelmed with the pressure strikes.

"Well, Minister, it seems you too need reminded of the tenants of your faith." Lipov stepped up to one of the levers again.

"I won't let you put that blood on my hands!" The beaten Gram pushed himself off the ground and tried to rush at Lipov, but his strength was too far gone and he hit the floor after a stumble.

By some strange chance, both Lipov and Cain retorted, "Pitiful." The first glared at the latter, the latter laughed. Lipov grabbed ahold of the lever and yanked it downward.

Angel realized too late she should have given the act at least some response. Maybe then he wouldn't have been so swift to look up in confusion when the trapdoors in the lighting rig slipped open but no sound came. Lipov frowned and looked up at the oddity before his eyes went wide and his teeth began to gnash. A few of his captives were still bound in place, those whose hands and necks were already free were hard at work liberating their fellow prisoners. Although they couldn't get down from the rig without assistance from one of the scaffoldings, they could at least maneuver around the trapdoors. Mexicans from their street festival untying Asians from their own. Muslims from the mosques hard at work releasing the noose from the young men and women from a gay nightclub. And a boy with dark skin and light hair, bow and arrow strapped to his back, knife in his hand as he cut the restraints of his captives.

"Little bastard!" Lipov raised his pistol.

Angel forced herself past the still-recovering Odmience and ran toward Lipov. "Stop!"

The old assassin fired into the darkness. Then fired again. With the third shot, the bullet struck Arrow in the shoulder. He shouted in pain, stumbled and fell over the side of the rig. Angel screamed, Lipov laughed and Arrow fumbled in the arrow. As his body clenched against the shock of the bullet wound he felt something with one of his hands. Without even knowing what it was he took hold of it tight. The rope of Angel's grappling hook, still latched to the lighting rig, slowed him just a little before he crashed into the ground.

Angel ran up to him as the Odmience shook his body and tried to regain feeling. Any ordinary care for her work was lost on her as she yelled, "Connor!" and kneeled to examine him.

Though his voice was weak, Arrow managed to say, "I'm all right… I'm all right." His shoulder was bleeding from the bullet and at least a few bones were surely cracked, but it seemed the rope of the grapple had greatly softened his impact.

"What's this? I told you no one gets to interrupt this!" Lipov reached into his coat and produced a small, remote-like device. "You've killed all five of those little worms, and anyone else close enough to be caught in the blast!"

Angel jerked up and drew another batarang, but there was no way she could stop Lipov from hitting the button at the center of his remote. The church went quiet for a few seconds, as if in anticipation.

When the moment passed, Arrow let out laugh that slipped into a dry cough. "Batman and the others already disabled your suicide bombers. They deactivated the explosives in the suits before I even came in here."

Lipov's eyes grew wide as the color drained from his face. Cain uttered the most boisterous bout of his laughter the whole night.

"They'll be here soon." Arrow tried to push upward, but crumbled and fell back to the ground. Angel remained at her side, but motioned she could leave him be. "And you just killed five people and prepared to kill three dozen more. Including one of their own."

Trembles ran through Lipov as he raised his gun toward Arrow and gnashed his teeth.

Between his laughs, Cain said, "It's over, Vic. You'll be outnumbered and outmaneuvered."

Without saying a word, Lipov turned the gun toward his old teacher.

"That's a standard six-shot, right Vic? You've used five already. As soon as you pull the trigger again, you'll be a sitting duck." He held his teeth together and sneered, "Choose wisely. Because almost everyone in this room is ready to beat the ever-living hell out of you."

The assassin looked up and held the gun toward the bloodied Gram as he pushed back to his feet. Then he eyed the captives in the lighting rig, who still couldn't hope to get down from their position without a raised scaffolding. In spite of how much had gone wrong, he could still get what he wanted.

"Odmience!" He looked toward his creation as Angel rose and slowly approached him. "Forget the hangings, forget what I said before. Just finish her!"

Angel was busily taking account of the situation as well. The prisoners on the lighting rafters above were, at least for the moment, safe. Gram had Lipov stuck in place, both unprepared to make a move out of fear of the other. Connor was injured, but at least stable. And the Odmience had been disarmed. Every piece was in place for Cassandra's endgame. She swallowed the last of her fear, faced the Odmience and threw open her arms.

"It's done," she said. "Fight is over."

From up on the stage, Lipov scoffed. "What are you on about now, girl? He's bloodied, not beaten!"

Cassandra gave him no mind and held her eyes on her opponent. "Have a choice, even if he told you you didn't. Only a monster if you choose to be one."

"This again?" Lipov demanded. "This is idiotic! This is what he was trained for, you stupid bitch! You think he'll give it up when victory is so close at hand?"

She still paid him no mind and approached her opponent slowly. "Give me your hate. I can take it. Just remember how it feels, Rafal."

Connor tried to stand again. "Angel, what are you doing?"

The Odmience stared at her as she held the open stance. He looked back and forth between her and Lipov as if he expected some trap was about to be sprung, but she did nothing.

Lipov glared at his student. "Zabij ja."

He looked at her again and hesitated.

"Zabij ja!"

The boy swallowed hard and looked toward Lipov a final time.

"ZABIJ JA! ZABIJ JA! DO CHORLERY, ZABIJ JA!"

Fueled by fear, the Odmience rushed at Cassandra and smashed a hook-punch into her face. As her head flew to the side a little blood and spittle flew from her mouth, but the boy flinched when she didn't even attempt to block the strike. He feinted back and forth, threw a few punches that just stopped short, but Cassandra still didn't respond.

The Odmience punched her in the gut, Cassandra keeled over and gasped, but still didn't retaliate. The boy-turned-demon struck her over and over. Closed fist, open palm, two fingers poised at her pressure points, it didn't matter. Cassandra didn't have the strength to mask her pain anymore. She spat up, clutched at her face and her stomach. A punch to the center broke open her nose, covered the Odmience's hands with her blood and, already of weak legs, she collapsed backwards.

Lipov cackled in laughter. "Yes! Yes that's it!"

"What are you doing?" Connor shouted. "Don't let him hit you like that!"

As he struggled to watch, Gram yelled, "That's enough! Call him off!"

"Or what, Minister?" The threat had only fueled Lipov's laughter.

The Odmience sat down on Cassandra's stomach and pulled back his fist.

"Cassandra!" Cain could hold his silence no longer. "Fight back, damnit! You're better than this!"

The Odmience brought his fist down on Cassandra's face. A freshly closed sore cracked back open, her teeth shook in her mouth and her brain rattled in her skull. He punched her again. And again. Her eyes, cheeks, everything began to swell or bleed, every strike wrecked her body with agony.

In spite of everything, she raised a hand to his face and placed it on his cheek. With what seemed like it could be the last of her strength, she whispered, "Rafal... better than this."

His strikes slowed and softened until he was frozen in place.

Minister, friend and father all shouted at her. "Get up! Get up!"

Lipov called from the center of the stage. "She's still breathing! You're not finished yet!"

As if fueled by something after all else had run dry, Cassandra managed to mutter, "Rafal." She set a hand on his cheek, as if to comfort him, and stroked it softly.

The boy clasped her hands over his ears and shut his eyes tight. In spite of all of Lipov's years of abuse and singular focus, the memory of so long ago burned in the boy's mind. He remembered the woman in her habits who held him as he sobbed. Who gave him a home and food when he was a vagrant. The woman who met his suffering with kindness. One more thing Lipov had ripped away from him. Sister Mary Katya.

"I SAID—"

Lipov could not complete his threat. A blunt-ended arrow struck his hands and the gun soared from his possession. The old assassin shouted in pain and grabbed at his now empty hand.

In the part of his mind he always fought hardest to quiet, he wondered if there hadn't been something more he could have done for her. If he could have turned on Lipov and hoped of winning, if he could have figured a way to save her. He was never sure of the answer.

But in that moment, as he faced another person who offered him kindness while Lipov roared he kill her, he was only controlled him through fear. He had no gun, no other means of defense and no chance he could defeat him in a fight.

"ZABIJ JA!"

"Rafal."

The boy threw back his head and released a shrill scream. For a second thereafter, the entire church was silent.

He rose from Cassandra's near-limp body and faced Lipov. In spite of her best efforts, she hadn't excised the boy of his rage. She'd only redirected it.

Fists clenched and blood boiling, he ran at his mentor. At long last, it was Lipov's turn to be afraid.


	51. Chapter 40

Victor Lipov's last true fight had been eighteen years prior. In the time since he had sparred with the Odmience when necessary and briefly tangled with Cain aboard the Final Offer. But in all of those years, he'd left his lucrative assassination jobs to the boy, to train and toughen him up. Although he had survived careening down the mountains of Poland all those years before, the damage to his figure had been permanent. Under his cloak of self-assuredness and wild schemes, his body was frail. And, as the boy he had trained to be a masterful killer closed in on him, Lipov was paralyzed with horror.

"Nie, nie, zatzymac!"

His terrified, Polish screams brought him nothing. Rafal beat all of the air out of his stomach in a flurry of punches. The boy threw two kicks to his knees and dropped him to his knees. As the pleads turned to cries of pain, Rafal grabbed a handful of his blonde hair and held his head upright so he could pound into it without knocking Lipov onto his back.

From the floor below, Cassandra could just make out the beating that was taking place. She rolled onto her stomach, spat up some blood and bile and clenched her fists. "No."

She had come to save Rafal from his life as a killer. She would not watch him claim another life, no matter how vile. And no matter how much Cassandra, even as she had come to hate rage as much as she had, took a small delight in the vengeance the boy reaped against Lipov.

Gram looked on at the scene in silence, as if he couldn't process what unfolded before him. Cain just laughed and laughed as the boy punched Lipov so hard the handful of hair was ripped right from his scalp and the old assassin's head planted against the floor.

Rafal grit his teeth as his face contorted from the overwhelming rage that boiled within him. Lipov was already struggling to see straight and shake the stars from his vision as the boy reared back a foot and kicked him in the face. The kick threw Lipov's face toward the ceiling as he wretched in agony.

Cassandra used up off the floor with what little strength she had left and called, "Rafal!"

If the boy heard her, he did nothing to acknowledge it. As he raised one of his legs up high Lipov tried to cover his face with his hands, but it didn't protect him much as Rafal stomped it again and again.

"Rafal, enough!"

He looked over toward her for just a moment, the hatred and loathing still clear in his dead, blue eyes. He pulled the wheezing Lipov from the ground just enough as his mouth was wide open and he struggled for breath. Rafal bent low smashed into him again with a devilish uppercut. In an unintentional move, the strike came just as Lipov's tongue slipped between the rows of his teeth. Lipov screamed in pain and twisted horror as blood seeped from his mouth and he spat out the end of the muscle to keep from choking on it.

"Stop! Don't have to do this!"

Battered and through screams, Lipov could do nothing the resist. His words had been rendered gibberish, his please were nothing to his creation. Rafal pulled him into a headlock with one arm and grabbed ahold of the opposite side with the other. Cassandra recognized the hold instantly, the boy was about to snap Lipov's neck.

"Stop it!" Even when he didn't look toward her she continued. "You don't want this, know you don't!"

With a deep, stuffed-up inhale Rafal glared up at her, as if he demanded, "Don't I?" with his eyes.

"Whatever he deserves, doesn't have to be you," Cassandra said. "No more, Rafal. Please. No more killing."

Rafal slowly shifted his leer from Cassandra down toward his mentor. Lipov continued to blubber bloody nonsense in the grip, his once simply scarred face was totally broken. Maybe it was her pleas that moved him. Or maybe he just took pleasure in disappointing his would-be master at another turn. Whatever it was, he released the headlock and threw the battered Lipov to the ground.

"Well would you look at that. Guess you guys didn't even need us."

Cassandra turned toward the entrance of the theater-like space. At the top of the slope stood Batgirl, Robin and Red Robin, the first of whom stepped in with a wide grin on her face. "Batman's a few minutes behind, but it looks like we don't even need him. You guys really cleaned house."

With a clenched fist and a downward gaze, Cassandra remembered the first five Lipov had decided to make an example of. "Not everyone was saved…"

Before Batgirl could ask for a further explanation, a burst of wild laughter overtook the space, amplified by the room's acoustics. Still bound to the chair with a ruined leg, Cain hooted and cackled at the sight of his defeated apprentice.

"So was it worth it, Vic? Was it everything you dreamed it could be? You came all the way back from the dead, kidnapped some kid, spent nearly two decades training him and what happened? Not only did he fail to kill my kid, he didn't even have it in him to kill you! This is the most pathetic thing I've ever seen in my life!"

Lipov's body clenched as he tried to stand, but didn't even have the strength to push up on his hands.

"You sure about that sob story you told me, Vic? Because letting elaborate torture games become your undoing in an assassination attempt is exactly what I just saw! It was just another story, wasn't it? Another load of bull by a whining brat trying to make himself sound important. You're nothing, Vic. Goddamn nothing!"

With a hand that shook with struggle, Lipov reached into his jacket and produced a second remote. He spoke as best he was able without the tip of his tongue. "Always hawve a contingencwy, 'Avid… mine was thwis chwuch."

Rafal only realized the implications of the act after he pressed but the button. Even as the boy stomped on his hand and the older man cringed again with pain, it was too later.

Through his mouth of bloody, gnashed teeth, Lipov spoke. "Mine was a wot of fawlty electwical wiring and gasowine."

Everyone was given pause by his words, but it only took a few seconds for the burning smell to rise from beneath their feet. Though the words probably struck every one of them, it was Gram who muttered, "God have mercy—"

An eruption of fire engulfed the far right side of the room. It followed some invisible trail of gasoline and electrical wires around the back of the stage, consumed the room in a blazing red and swiftly moved toward the ceiling. The captives above screamed as the flames moved ever higher.

Robin glared toward Batgirl. "You were saying—"

"So not the time to be a smartass right now!" Red Robin shouted over him. "Get down to Angel—"

Cassandra turned to them and yelled, "No!" She pointed toward the lighting rig. "Save them first! Can't get down!"

Batgirl tried to respond, "But—"

"Do it!" Cassandra turned toward the burning stage, grabbed Rafal's sword and pulled herself up. The boy himself ran off, she didn't watch for where. She approached a nearly petrified Gram and looked back toward Connor, who still struggled to stand. "You."

Gram snapped back to life. "What?"

"Him." She pointed toward Connor with the sword. "Go. Help him."

The moment Gram processed the request, he ran from the stage as fast as his legs could take him. In the midst of the increasingly sweltering heat, Cassandra approached the chair Cain was bound to and cut at his restraints.

Cain scowled at her when he realized what she was attempting. "What in God's name are you doing?"

She shared his scowl. "Saving you."

"Why?"

"Shut up."

"Thaw's it!" A bitter laugh escaped the beaten Lipov just a few feet away. "Save him, get youwself burned up in the pwocess!"

Cassandra pulled Cain up from the chair and slung one of his arms over her shoulder. As led the broken Cain toward the edge of the stage. Despite her hopes otherwise, he and Lipov shared a last leer before Cain looked upward as the smoke and fire rose toward the ceiling.

"Burn in hell, David."

The flames reached a relatively small, relatively unstable chunk of the roof.

"You first, Vic."

The wooden rafters that held the chunk of ceiling in place was eaten away by the climbing flames. A collection of blazing wood, burning plaster and hot steel fell from above and crashed atop Victor Lipov. Cassandra turned away and didn't look back. She didn't need to see a body covered by all that rubble to know what had become of him.

She led Cain one step at a time off the stage. Every other body within the church worked fast against the growing inferno. Colored in the reds and oranges, Red Robin and Batgirl maneuvered the scaffoldings to the best of their abilities. Batman arrived just thereafter and, without explanation of what was going on, assisted Robin in setting ropes to help Lipov's captives slide down from the lighting rig. Even weakened as he was, Gram made it to Connor and gave him a shoulder to lean on. Cassandra led Cain one step at a time.

"You're going to get yourself killed, damn it," Cain said. "You're wasting your time."

"Told you to shut up."

Another chunk of the building's roof came down, smashed into a nearby scaffolding and reduced the tool to another piece of rubble. The flames glowed hotter and smoke filled the eyes and lungs. Cassandra keeled down and wheezed, tears ran from her eyes, but she just kept leading Cain forward.

His protests grew more frantic. "What do you think this is going to accomplish, huh? When the League realizes I was compromised and I'll never be able to walk again, they'll burn me faster than this fire ever could. I'm already dead, you hear me, Cassandra? I'm already dead!"

The rest of the assembled had already escaped as Gram, Connor and the last of the captives ran through the threshold. With what words she could muster against the smoke, Cassandra shouted, "Have to save you!" Cassandra had been in burning buildings before, but she had never experienced something so bright and so dark all at the same time. Perhaps that was hell looked like.

Finally, she took another step toward the exit, but Cain did not follow. She struggled to go forward again, but he still didn't budge. She turned toward him. "Move!"

On his aged, battered face, Cassandra saw something she had seen before, if only rarely. His eyes were hung downward, his face was clenched tight. He was in the state of pain he engaged the least: shame.

"It wasn't on you to save me." Despite his forceful words from before, these were quiet if firm. "It's a father's work to save his child, not the other way around."

The tears that slid down Cassandra's face had nothing to do with the smoke as she pulled against him again and again, though Cain did not budge. "Don't care what you did, move!"  
"You don't care?" Cain guffawed. "All of this is my fault! You, Lipov, that kid, you were all here because of what I did." In spite of all of his best efforts, a few tears ran down his face as well. "Don't you dare get yourself killed for me, Cassandra, I'm not worth it!"

The flames grew higher and the smoke grew thicker. Something above them rumbled. Cassandra kept her hands on his and tugged, despite his words. "Only a monster if you choose to be."

Cain gazed downward for a moment before he looked up and the rumbling noise grew louder. "I'll have done all of two decent things with my life. And the first was creating you."

Cassandra pulled at him and screamed, "Move!"

Cain pulled her toward himself and said, "Goodbye, Cassandra."

With the last of his strength, he shoved her forward as a mound of debris fell from the ceiling and crushed him under the weight of blazing wood and steel.

"NO!" Cassandra ran at the pile of destruction and reached out for it before the extreme heat warded her backwards. Her body shook in anger and horror as she starred at the place where her father had stood.

Misery took her, the smoke and wounds all caught up, she fell to her knees, internally comatose at the sight. More chunks of the ceiling came down and smashed into floor and scaffoldings around her. Outside, her family were taking account of everyone and only just realized she was still unaccounted for. But the flames had grown too great. The whole ceiling would soon collapse. Someone had to go in after her, but it was too dangerous to do so.

Cassandra knelt before the rubble, her body felt too weak to carry her any further, her mind too exhausted to comprehend what had happened. She only regained feeling when a hand clutched her shoulder.

She whirled around and looked upward. The boy she had fought so hard against stood at her side with a hand extended. Cassandra was unsure if it was kindness that was on Rafal's face, but thought it was at least the closest thing he could manage.

She had saved him not once, but twice. It was his place to return the favor.

Cassandra cast a last gaze at the smoldering wreckage that buried David Cain, looked toward Rafal and accepted his hand. With one arm slung over his shoulder, the two trekked out from the blazing inferno.

[[Author's note- Well, twas a deadline that got me this far, even if I'm throwing in the towel and saying I couldn't quite make it. There's only one chapter of the story remaining, where I'm going to attach my mental retrospective as well. Didn't quite finish the story on time, but considering just how hard I've been pounding at my keyboard as of late, I'm still feeling pretty good about all I've gotten done since I got my butt in gear.

Happy Easter everyone]]


	52. Chapter 41

A NEW PATH, STRAIGHT AND NARROW

In the wake of the destruction of his church, Gotham's radio pastor finds a new lease on life

By Vicki Vale

Two weeks after the arson of the Wellspring of Hope Christian Church on Gotham's east south side, Reverend Cameron Gram still makes it a point to drive by and contemplate the wreckage. The preacher, 34, has said he has even stopped walked as close as he can manage a few times since the police cleared the scene. In spite of the tremendous loss of what was destined to be the largest church in the state, Reverend Gram seems to be taking the act in stride.

"I've had a lot of time to think lately, you know?" Gram told the Gazette. "The station's given me some time off, after what happened I'm really grateful to be at home with the wife and kids some more. Horrible stuff back there, really horrible."

The Gotham City Police Department themselves are still investigating exactly what happened the evening the church caught fire. Police Commissioner James Gordon provided the statement: "We have confirmation it dealt with an ally of the Batman. This whole thing was apparently some high stakes psychological game and the man responsible is dead, that's all we really know."

Seven bodies were recovered from the scene of the arson, but it has been confirmed dozens more citizens were within the church when the fire started. By Reverend Gram's own admission, he is the only thing that really connects them.

Gram admitted he was hesitant to talk on the matter, but did elaborate. "The man who kidnapped all of these innocent people got the idea from me. He twisted my ideologies and took violent action to spite someone very much in God's graces. Though I now know all too well now that I was the one who was twisting ideologies first."

Indeed, the recent string of "Reaper Kidnappings" were confirmed to have been connected, if indirectly, with Gram's radio sermons, in which he often spoke critically of weak boarder protection, Middle-Easterners and homosexuality. This led to targets of the Reaper Kidnappings including Latinos, Muslims and gay youths. Opinions of where blame should fall on this matter have varied among those who kidnapped.

David Winters, a twenty-four year old man who was kidnapped from The Garden nightclub over a month ago, expressed some lingering disdain. "This is such a floundering old conservative's answer to everything," Winters said. "Apologize now, wait for the thing to blow over and just get back to old habits. If that Gram guy is really sorry for what he helped make a mess of, he's gonna need a lot more than words to convince me."

In turn, Affrah Musa, a forty-two year old Muslim and father of three who was one of the first taken by the Reapers after attending Mosque, was decidedly more forgiving on the matter.

"Our lives were taken from us, some for a few weeks, others forever. It was cruel what that man who held us against our wills did, but Mister Gram did not tell him to do it and has expressed nothing but regret ever since. My people know what it is like to be bound to a crime they did not commit. I believe there is good in the preacher, and perhaps these horrors have made him appreciate it."

If nothing else, the terrors of the kidnapping and arson have done a lot to change the perspectives of both men, who reported helping one another while they were held. Despite nothing connecting them before, the two now meet for coffee once a week to exchange pleasantries and happier experiences."

"I've never associated with Muslims before," Winters said. "I've been very used to the stereotypes and some people do fit them to a T. I still believe some of Islam's members are repressive and take things too seriously. But I remember a few of those dark, cold nights, when Affrah would talk about his three beautiful girls at home. How much he hoped they were well, how terrified he was he might never see them again—it touched me, deep inside."

"David was a blessing from the Lord, peace be upon him," Musa said. "It is taught that homosexuality is a sin in my faith, but I have decided it is not my place to judge. He suffered beside me, when smoke rose up in the church, he and I led one another out of the flames. We are brothers now."

With the new lease on life some Gothamites have found in the wake of this tragedy, Reverend Gram remains hopeful for the future.

"I'm talking with the radio station and my other funders right now," Gram said. "Gotham's already got five-thousand churches, I've heard before. We've still got the land but the slate is clean for something new. Maybe a soup kitchen, maybe a homeless shelter, I don't know, but I've got some ideas. It's not all up to me of course, but I think they might prove better use of all this space. Maybe one thing will lead to another and we'll get some more believers out of the deal anyway. Time will tell."

-000-

On the last day before Connor's return to Star City, he fulfilled a final request Cassandra asked of him. It seemed like such a simple favor he wasn't sure why she needed him, but Connor was never one for asking questions of his friends. At her behest, he called around to ten different animal shelters sprinkled around Gotham before he found the one she wanted to go to. He accompanied her inside as she approached the clerk in the center of the lobby.

The clerk, a young woman with blonde hair tied back in a bun, smile as the two approached. "Good morning, welcome to the Friends of Fur animal refuge. How can I help you today?"

"Looking for a cat," Cassandra said. "White, gray parts on the fur. Tail cut off."

The smile on the young woman's face disappeared. "Oh. I think I know which one you're talking about… we only have one that fits that description, I think. But she's a bit of a piece of work."

Connor slid up to the counter. "How so?"

"Well, we got in her in about a month ago. Her original owners were… well, it was horrible. They were very good to her, we think, but she's been very upset ever since. People already joke that cats seem depressed, but this case is very real."

Cassandra asked, "Her name?"

"Her name is Ali, according to her chip. Have you ever owned a cat before?"

Cassandra shook her head.

The receptionist rose and grabbed a ring of keys off her desk. "This might not be the best first impression. If you're just doing this because you heard about the story and you feel bad, that's very sweet of you, but she's going to need a real, good, permanent home."

Cassandra nodded. "I know."

The receptionist led Cassandra and Connor back into a small, bright room. Within were walls painted bright blue and cat trees decorated to look like the masts of pirate ships. Tiny kittens and more mature cats all yowled as the receptionist opened the door. Though she had never been the most receptive to animals before, Cassandra felt a sudden and intense pull toward all of the little creatures that rubbed up on her legs as she was led in. Only one of the cats remained quiet, the one who sat at the top of one of the trees. She was the one Cassandra identified immediately.

The receptionist was still apprehensive as she referred to her. "So here she is. She's usually just relaxed, but be careful, she might bite."

It was the first time Cassandra had seen her in the light. Her fur was long and looked soft, her tiny green eyes followed Cassandra carefully and the half of her tail that remained whipped back and forth. The young woman extended a hand out toward her. Ali initially barred her teeth and uttered a "Mrow", but very slowly reached out toward Cassandra's hand with her nose. As the cat sniffed it, her lips came down over her fanged sneer and her body began to relax. Despite the weeks apart and the pace of that evening, Ali smelled something familiar. The only something familiar in weeks that had been positive. She took a few seconds more to register the meaning of the smell before she butted her head against Cassandra's hand and rubbed her ears against the girl's waiting fingers.

The receptionist went wide eyed. "We haven't seen anyone else get a reaction like that out of her."

Cassandra scratched behind the weary white cat's ears and the little creature arched itself with pleasure. "Want to help."

Connor smiled. He was pleased, if not surprised. "Does she have all her vaccinations? Will we need to do anything to take her home?"

"There's some paperwork to do, but if you come with me we can get it all done and you can all head out later today."

Cassandra stroked Ali's head as, for the first time since she'd arrived, she began to purr. "You'll be safe with me. Promise."

-000-

Ali laid asleep upon Cassandra's lap in the den of Wayne Manor as Stephanie and Tim sat on the adjacent couch seats. Damian sat in one of his father's oversized chairs across from them and a lone body, young Rafal, sat in another tilted toward the rest, the three seats formed the points of a triangle. The sun was just setting that Sunday afternoon and its orange accentuated the reds of the leather seats and reflected on the white carpet. Everyone shifted in their seats with anticipation as Bruce stepped through the triangle and came close to the boy. He was still garbed all in black, as was his preference, and he sat so still he didn't appear to breath. But in the weeks after his and Cassandra's escape from the burning church he had been welcomed as best anyone was able into the manor. It wasn't easy, but he had slowly grown accustomed to, even comfortable, within.

When Bruce reached him, he held out a small, silver object, the size and shape of a lighter. "You hold it up to your throat and press in." He simulated the motion and put out the object, an eletrolarynx, again. It'll help pick up what your vocal chords can't."

Rafal squinted at the object and looked up at Bruce, as if he was still unsure if he should accept it. He turned his gaze toward Cassandra who, between strokes on Ali, nodded to him.

"You don't think we're rushing him, do you?" Tim scratched at the back of his head. "If you've gone all your life without something, it's probably scary to have it for the first time."

"Talked to him," Cassandra said. "Best I could. Is scared, but wants it anyway."

Stephanie spoke quietly. "What do you think his first words are going to be? Think they'll be poignant?"

A little smile came across Cassandra's face. He slept in a spare bedroom just down the hall from her and had seen him practice lip movements in one of the hallway mirrors. She had a good guess.

Rafal held the electrolarynx to his throat and the machine produced a soft buzzing sound. He looked up toward Bruce and then at Cassandra again as he took a deep breath. What came next was low, drawn out and mechanical sounding, but that they were words was unquestionable.

"Thaaannnk youuu…. Thank you, Cassandra."

His eyes went wide with amazement as he looked down at the device. Bruce and Damian both gave small nods of approval, wide smiles broke across Tim and Stephanie's faces. Ali perked up, rose from Cassandra's lap and hopped down. Rafal and Cassandra both found themselves bowing downward to wipe tears from their eyes. As he fought to inhale again through sniffles, Rafal spoke again. "Thank you all."

Bruce allowed himself a small smile. "That name, then. Rafal. Is that what you'd like to continue being called?"

The boy nodded for a second before the realization crossed his mind and he held the device to his throat again. "Yes."

"I don't want to bombard you with information you're only just now able to provide," Bruce said. "But everything suggests you've done terrible things on Lipov's orders. I need to know that life is behind you now. No one is going to make you fight anymore, and I need to know you're willing to let it be that way."

The little white and gray cat purred as she slid up against one of Rafal's legs. The boy reached down, stroked her and pressed the electrolarynx against his neck. "Pretty kitty. So beautiful."

Bruce spoke softly but firmly, "Rafal."

The boy paused from his cooing and looked up.

"I need to know what you did you only did for Lipov, and you're ready to walk away from that part of your life."

Rafal released the press on his neck enough to swallow and took a deep breath. "Never wanted this. He made me hurt, made me kill. Don't want it, never again." He looked toward Cassandra as the tears again began to well in his eyes. "She saved me."

Cassandra rose from her seat and stepped past Bruce. As the boy fought to regain his composure, she wrapped her arms tight around him and he wept into her shoulder.

"You made this choice," she said.

"You showed me I could."

-000-

The months passed and Gotham returned to its state of relative normality. Chaos came and went as it always did, but crimes and plots scaled back to a less personal level. No one was pursuing Cassandra specifically, which she was grateful for. And the nights she didn't spend in costume were finally happy ones again. She saw a lot of movies she didn't understand, ate foods she couldn't identify on the menu and even made a new meditation partner. Tensions still existed, not everything was resolved, but she felt she was with someone worth sharing it all with.

August came around, as Cassandra knew it would. After the graduation party back in June the days seemed to pass so quickly. At Stephanie's proposal, the two arrived early at the airport on Gotham's outskirts and just sat in her car for a bit. There was a last task at hand, Cassandra needed some mental preparation to face it.

"I know it's tough," Stephanie said. "But it's not going to be forever. You know that."

Cassandra breathed a deep sigh. "I know."

"You not giving her grief about this makes you a good partner. And if you guys can get past this, you can probably get past anything."

Cassandra nodded and rubbed at her eyes. Nothing had come from them yet, but she was already waiting in anticipation. After another minute she finally opened the door, an envelope and a package in one hand, and stepped out into the short-term parking lot. Stephanie followed a few steps behind her toward the airport. The envelope contained a card and check from Bruce, probably for an absolutely ridiculous sum similar to the one he'd given at the graduation party. The small package was gift Cassandra had picked out. Tim, Stephanie and Connor all had suggestions for meaningful parting gifts, it was Connor's she liked the best.

Peter and Charlene had just pulled up to the airport curb. He lugged an oversized suitcase out of the trunk as she opened the door to the backseat. Both smiled toward Cassandra and Stephanie as they approached and Sadie stepped out of the car. Cassandra wasn't sure, but from the look on her face, it looked like she was waiting for that moment with anxiousness as well.

"Hey girls." Peter gasped for breath as he laid the heavy suitcase on the curb. "Glad you could both make it."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Stephanie said.

"Only a few weeks' of clothes and my most discerned knickknacks in here you know." Sadie stepped closer with a laptop bag over one shoulder and referred to the suitcase. "Gangsters money launder in Chicago, I'm going to be stuck regular laundering."

"And you'll have to do it all by yourself," Peter said. "Oh the horror."

Charlene was the only one to give him a laugh as she stepped up and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Peter, why don't we go get the bag checked and the ticket printed? Give the girls a minute to themselves."

"All right," he slipped the handle out of the huge suitcase and rolled it into the airport. "We'll be back in a few minutes."

The three remained in place for a few seconds as if in hesitation before Cassandra and Sadie practically fell into one another with a tight hug.

Cassandra spoke in a soft whisper. "Will miss you."

"Yeah," Sadie said. "I'm going to miss you too." She peeked over Cassandra's shoulder and smiled toward Stephanie. "You too, Steph. Thanks for bringing her out here."

Stephanie just nodded. Cassandra sank a little deeper into the embrace, Sadie stroked at the hair on the back of her head.

When they finally separated for a moment, Cassandra held out the card. "From Dad."

"Oh God, you mind if I not open that right now?" Sadie laughed and shook her head. "I might have a little bit of a freak out when I open it. In fact history indicates I'll definitely have a freak out when I open it."

Cassandra nodded and then held out the small, wrapped package still in her hand. "From me."

"Aw, you didn't have to get me anything. I might not even have a place to put it." Sadie went to work on the wrapping paper and soon beheld the small, green box within. "Oh, it's a…" she paused and squinted at the packaging. "Buddha Board."

Stephanie stepped closer to the two. "Okay, I may have volunteered to come along today because if you don't have it explained, this gift's kind of a mixed message. I obviously wanted to come anyway, but this way I can make myself useful." Stephanie laid a finger on the box. "You just dab the brush in water and paint on the board. It's supposed to be a good way to calm the mind. Painting, which is close to you, and meditating, which is close to Cassie."

Sadie nodded slowly and passed a finger over one of her eyes. "That's really cool when you put it like that."

Cassandra considered leaving it at that. She hadn't told Stephanie about the other meaning she was hoping to attach and was afraid of articulating it herself. But she'd practiced in messages and over the phone with Connor. She took a deep breath. "And," she said. "It means letting go. The water fades, only lasts a little while."

The smile on Sadie's face dropped a little and she bit her lip. "Wait a sec, what do you mean by—"

Cassandra knew she had to clarify and spoke quickly to do so. "This is important to you, so I'm letting you go. Sad, but can live with it." She laid a hand on the back of Sadie's hand as Sadie had done to her and gently pulled her forward until their foreheads met. "Picture doesn't last, this won't either. Won't be gone forever."

Sadie's smile crept up gain, fuller than before. "It's kinda beautiful when you put it like that…. I'll use it every day. I'll make every day in Chicago a great one, but then it'll pass. And I'll be one day closer to coming back here to you."

They separated foreheads and met lips in a deep kiss. The moment came and passed faster than either of them would have liked, but it was still wonderful.

"Get your dad or your butler or whoever to help you out with that webcam and your phone if you need it," Sadie said. "Message me whenever you want, worst case I'll just get you back when my class is over."

"Make us proud out there!" Stephanie said. "Go show art school who's boss!"

Sadie smirked. "Aye aye, captain."

"Do well, have fun," Cassandra said.

"Thanks." Sadie leaned in for a last quick kiss as Peter and Charlene stepped back through the automatic doors of the airport. "I'll see you at winter break."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

With a last waive to her friends, Sadie departed into the airport with her cousin and his wife. A new adventure Cassandra could hardly understand ahead of her, but that was all right. Cassandra went on adventures Sadie wouldn't understand all the time.

Stephanie patted Cassandra on the shoulder. "You gonna be okay?"

Cassandra took in a deep breath and exhaled a sigh. "Thought okay was easy."

Something like a sad smile crossed Stephanie's face. "Yeah?"

"It's not. Can do everything right, do good, love, and still get hurt."

"And sometimes you have to let yourself not be okay to be okay again," Stephanie said. "The worst part? Okay isn't even all that great. Good, wonderful, those feel like they're worth it. But sometimes it's hard to just be okay with life. I know exactly what you mean."

Cassandra absentmindedly ran a finger over the silver chain around her neck. "Keep doing my best, doing what's right, no matter how hard it gets." She clutched the cross and wiped a tear from her eye. "God will take care of the rest."

Stephanie put an arm around her shoulder and began to lead her back to the car. "That's the spirit. So, once more for posterity, are you going to be okay?"

Hand still held to the cross and tear still in her eye, Cassandra spoke as much to herself and to the lord above as she did to Stephanie.

"I'm going to be okay."

The End

-000-

[[There will be an author's commentary posted at some point in the near future, but it's already delayed the release of this chapter and the final bit of closure to the plot for too long. So it'll be posted when it's finished with.]]


	53. Final Commentary

" _Hope, though much harder to find this time around, is every bit as valuable and every bit as important"_

\- _Times of Heresy_ 'sfirst mantra

" _Fuck me, I hope I never take as long and write something this difficult ever again"_

\- _Times of Heresy_ 's second mantra.

 _Times of Heresy_ has been a real mental and emotional rollercoaster for me, and it's really weird to think it's finally over. It's been my attempt to subvert my own creation, vent about politics, reflect on my love life and a lot more stuff I'm hoping to cover. All of my writings are personal, but this one in ways I usually only feel about my original creations. It's a piece I at once feel is more flawed than its predecessor, but that I came out considering the superior work. Even beyond my time spent writing fan fiction and taking my other works into consideration, this was probably the hardest piece I've ever written. In some ways these issues were conventional: I was treading into a lot of new territory, I was trying to maintain the quality they taught me to keep in grad school, stuff like that. But it was also a heavy experience in the way reality affects creativity, my own drive, stuff like that. Needless to say there's a lot to unpack.

 _From the top-_

As conventional storytelling is one to suggest, the beginning is a good place to start. From 2014-2015 I wrote the original _Angel of the Bat_ at a time in which my drive for my personal writings was at a low. I felt like it was a story worth telling that never got its chance to shine, poured a lot of my heart and soul into it, you probably read that one before this one, you know how it went. I wasn't sure how I felt about doing a follow up back then, but I was at least open to the idea if something good enough came to me. My _Angel_ -verse did continue to exist in my head at the time. My barely-started crossover with _Ms. Marvel_ as a multi-faith team-up was actually started somewhere in here, but I wasn't pleased with it, deleted it and reuploaded it later, only to again leave it sitting. Maybe I outta get back to that sometime here soon.

 _Beware the Batman_ was also started around this time and I made it a decent ways in before I slapped that in my indefinite hold bin too. That plot, which I mentally proposed as "The Ultimate Batman-less Batman Story" did not focus heavily on religion, but was set in this same continuity, complete with a Catholic Cassie married to Sadie. That story was most plagued by the sheer number of times I had ideas and ended changing them later. I do have a clearer plan for that story if the urge ever hits me to return to it, so that's something.

 _Times of Heresy_ was actually an amalgam of two different sequel ideas I was mentally kicking around before I decided to begin. The first I was tentatively calling, _"Cain and Abel_ " which featured prototypes of the characters who would eventually become Lipov and the Odmience. The "Abel" in the title referred to the idea of Cassandra and the prototype Odmience having this simultaneously bitter but also sibling-like relationship, due to both being raised the same way. The main cornerstone of that story was the idea that people are capable of change, which would be evident when Cassie redeemed the Odmience at the story's end, very similar to the "Only a monster if you choose to be one" message of this story. My second idea would have featured a new gang of superheroes coming to Gotham, seeking to do good but having a hardassed religious zealot stance to them. Cassie and the Bat family had to contend with them as they served both as vigilantes and as new voices opposing various social issues. These "Crusaders" as they were did things like protest outside of abortion clinics and obstruct Pride parades, the latter of which especially tore Cassie up about the different sides of her personal identity. Eventually, the crusaders were dropped, the role of obnoxious but law abiding zealot went to Gram and Cassie became the hardassed hero, even if we never saw her trying to demand any social change.

In every variation the original plan was that the story be more episodic. Individual chapters were supposed to read more like comic book issues than pieces of a book, but that style never really suited me, I eventually found.

I think it's pretty obvious within the story itself, but the changing world of political discourse and its relationship with religion was ultimately what made me decide I wanted to tell this story. In most political matters, I am very left-leaning, not in defiance of my commitment to Catholicism, but because of it. I grew up in a wealthy family, but my parents taught my siblings and me a lot about giving to the less fortunate. I have a number of gay friends whose love lives I believe are every bit as real as mine is. And _Times of Heresy_ came to my mind as I grew increasingly frustrated with the likes of the supposedly pious continuing to defy the Bible's words about helping and being kind to others, avoiding greed and other such acts as the like of Joel Osteen and Pat Robertson seemed to guilty of. It should come as no surprise that I utterly despise American president Donald Trump, and the continued support he receives from the religious right after his hate-mongering, bigotry, classism and personal infidelities just sickens me. So yes, _Times of Heresy_ contained a lot of anger venting.

 _The Elephant in the Room-_

Before I go any further with this reflection, I feel there's something I need to again address, though some who have followed this story long enough surely already know. In October of 2016, I proposed to my girlfriend of eight years, we moved in together a month later, spent about six months planning our wedding and then she broke up with me in an entirely one-sided ordeal. The end of said series of events, without exaggeration, ruined my life for a while. I bring this up here because it's inevitable she is going to come up a fair deal in this reflection, as an inspiration for some events and a suggestor of others. I don't want to go into the real life events a whole lot if I can avoid it, but to not mention her altogether and the impact it had on some of the story would leave this reflection incomplete. I don't actually think any major events in the story were altered as a result of this, but I certainly did channel in some of the associated emotions to certain parts of the story.

" _Times of Heresy" as a Title_

"Heretic" is a fun word. It's a staple insult of fundamentalist villains, it rolls off the tongue nicely and it's got this great pop to it. It was the simple entertainment value I found in the word that elevated my interest in "Heresy" and eventually made me decide it was worth being my subtitle.

"Heresy" has an inherent "You should know better" edge to it, it implies a willing disobedience. The meaning is double-edged in this story. The first time the phrase gets dropped, Cameron Gram is arguing that Christians who don't follow his stringent set of rules and practices are the heretics. Not dissimilar to how Jesus was considered a heretic by the Pharisees of his time for curing the sick on the Sabbath. The Pharisees were a bunch of religious authorities who had become too obsessed with petty rules and drunk on their own influence, Gram is much the same and eventually he drags Cassie down with him. In the conventional sense of "defying religious traditions," the "Times of Heresy" refer to the beginning of the story.

But "Heresy" has a secondary meaning here. To be heretic can mean to act in defiance to religious tradition, but it can also mean to act contrary to religious morality. The two ideas are often very closely intertwined, but are sometimes at odds. To resist the idea an adulterer should be put to death defied Hebrew tradition, but to continue to not argue for peace in place of violence would be a failing of morality. Though both meanings apply, the true "Times of Heresy" in question here are the points in the middle of the story in which Cassandra is consumed by her hatred and self-loathing, despite knowing deep down that they are wrong.

 _Inverting my Original Work_

In a number of places and different ways, _Times of Heresy_ was meant to invert the ideas I presented in the original _Angel of the Bat_. The main villain of the original was a big, scary monster man who really only viewed Cassandra as a curiosity standing between him and his real goal. Lipov is a petty, frail-bodied man driven exclusively by his thirst for revenge and the Odmience is his broken-willed enforcer. In the first story, Cassie very nearly gives up her faith when it seems incompatible with her identity. Here, she spends a while giving up her identity in the name of her faith. Since I wasn't planning on doing any sequels when I wrote most of the original story, I didn't set up anything I could pay off later, so I opted instead to just mess with the themes I had already established.

 _A More Human Narrative_

Compared to the original, _Times of Heresy_ is supposed to be a more "human" take on storytelling. Which is funny, because this is the one that has college students in power suits with ridiculous abilities and self-destruct switches. What I mean by this being the more human story is that what you see is what you get in a lot of cases here. There was another ambiguous encounter with Jesus planned in the story's early stages (something I'll get into later) but was ultimately removed. Things like Cassie's relationships with Sadie and Monsignor Ryan that were presented as wholly positive in the first story are presented as more flawed here. And even Cassie herself, who was of totally pure heart the first time around, reveals that she's susceptible to corruption.

 _Influences from Reality-_

As mentioned before, the plot's even more political this time around, particularly in the negativity Cameron Gram is built around. Cameron Robert Gram is named after actor Kirk Cameron and televangelists Pat Robertson and Billy Graham. He has elements of each man's personalities, along with little sprinklings of Joel Osteen, Ken Ham and Dinesh De'Suza here and there. Gram was actually the most frustrating character for me to write because I could never decide if he was too over the top or not. It felt like every time I figured he had become too negative or too forceful, one of his inspirations would say or do something dumb to just reinforce my opinion. Our religious pundits felt at times like exaggerated cartoons, so I figured I was allowed to do the same with my pastiche of them.

Gram's overwhelming negativity isn't exactly a trait that's obvious in any source of his inspirations. Kirk Cameron and Joel Osteen both present themselves as very charming and good spirited. In the case of Billy Graham, I actually believe it, to a degree. The first name Cameron was with me for a while before my ex suggested taking a dig at Billy Graham as well, which I decided to do with relatively little research on the man done. Graham was, I believe, a better man than those who came after him. He was an outspoken voice for Civil Rights, he taught a lot about the virtues of kindness and generosity, stuff I genuinely admire. But I don't regret bringing him into all this because ol' Billy Graham is also the father of the modern televangelist movement, which I feel has very much made salvation out to be something that can be bought or sold and sees its preachers seriously exploit the struggles of their faithful for frivolous gain. And, if nothing else, his son Franklin Graham very much _is_ worthy of fierce critique.

Among other real-life events that influenced this story, one of the most powerful was that situation a while back involving a fake Planned Parenthood video that Carly Fiorina brought to national attention and tried to use to level against the health care institution. In case anyone has forgotten, this action had at least some impact in provoking a crazed gunman to shoot up a Planned Parenthood in his neighborhood and kill multiple people. I recall being absolutely furious by the whole thing and asking Fiorina on her Facebook page if she was haunted by the ghosts of those innocent people. Ineffective, but cathartic, I assure you. When someone with a news station did attempt to confront Fiorina about it, she went on the total defensive and acted as if she had absolutely no part in what had happened. A similar scene happens between Batgirl and Gram in his station's parking lot, in which he rants and raves that what happens because of what he said isn't his fault and he will not be blamed when some sick individual takes him out of context. This point ends up being one of the most major in the plot- that when you are a public figure, you affect people, sometimes in ways you don't mean to. And for that reason figures of influence should choose their words and actions carefully. The fact that Gram is horrified by the consequences of his actions when he sees them almost felt like too much credit to give the religious right, but I try hard to be an idealist. I'd like to hope that, if a lot of bigots saw just how ugly the things they want really are, they would turn away in horror. Perhaps not in every case, but this is a work of fiction after all.

 _The Monster You Choose to Be_

While I hit on a few different ideas over the course of this story, the notion, "You are who you choose to be" is the most significant. While still developmentally stunted in a few different ways, Cassandra is nearing adulthood in some of her faculties at this point in the timeline, she is responsible for her own decisions. And whatever those decisions are, they have consequences. Cassie chooses not to have sex with Sadie and has to live with their breakup for a while. She chooses to save the Odmience from drowning and then has to live with his ungrateful response. She ends up dealing with these consequences very negatively, when she also chooses to start taking Cam Gram's preaching to heart and lets it infect her relationships and actions. Even Steph has to deal with this theme when her arrogance gets the Bunker impounded and she's reluctant to go to Bruce for help with the Cam Gram case. And the story eventually comes home to roost for Lipov, who very much is a monster by choice, and the Odmience and Gram, who finally decides to stop being ones.

In my outlines, everything from the Cassie-Sadie breakup through the Odmience's escape from the bunker was labeled, "Cassandra and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day," both to amuse myself and homage the Joker's infamous mantra from _The Killing Joke_ that everyone is just one bad day from being him. Cassie doesn't become like him of course, but it does only take an exceptionally bad day to shatter much of her outlook on life and send her in a downward spiral it takes most of the rest of the story to recover from.

The Odmience is a character who has spent years totally under Lipov's control and feels he has no agency. Lipov never gave him anything of his own in his life, and when he ran away to try and find something more, Lipov tore it out of his hands. I don't believe the Odmience is responsible for any of the terrible things Lipov made him do and I believe the years of abuse rendered him totally complicit. It is only when Cassandra talks to him like an actual human being as Sister Katya did that it even seems to occur to Odmience he could choose to defy Lipov's will. The final confrontation is still brutal and I wanted all of the great action moments to still be there, but they were more of a diversion than anything else. Empathy was what undid Lipov, not violence. Love trumped hate… And speaking of a different sort of love…

 _Love, Sex and Everything in Between_

One of the prospects that interested me the most in the planning stages was the opportunity to expand on Cassie and Sadie's relationship. In some ways, this is the closest thing to a straight-(ha ha)-forward romance I've ever written. The question of sex obviously crossed my mind quickly and, while I'll keep the details as limited as I can, personal experience did have a big part in that plotline. A tip for any writers out there by the way- Never never never never NEVER under any circumstance name a character you may one day write a sexual scene about after your beloved dog. Don't. Just don't.

The matter of sex was an extreme balancing act for me because it's one of those religious matters I am actually a bit of a traditionalist on. I don't take issue with other people having sex, I don't judge, I don't look down. But I've spent a lot of my life genuinely wanting to believe what I was taught back in religious education: sex is a pleasure one should reserve for marriage.

It is difficult to be a person for whom sex is expected and not deliver. In my case I am a man, and men are, in our society, often expected to be sexual creatures. In Cassandra's case, she is a woman in a lesbian relationship three years before same-sex marriage will be legalized in her state. I'm certainly less familiar with the expectations in that situation, but marriage won't be viable in the foreseeable future and Sadie's past girlfriends have, it's implied, been more inclined to have sex much quicker. Cassie and I both have/have had girlfriends whom we care about deeply but don't want to have sex with before marriage, and we both have/had girlfriends who are very frustrated by that.

Despite my own reservations about sex, it was important to me to not demonize Sadie for having sexual desires and not feeling a need to restrain them. Teenagers and adults have sexual wants and it's not my place to tell anyone not to act on them. Until things start really going downhill for Cassie, she feels much the same way. If Steph had mentioned that she and Tim had sex before Cassie had her freak out, I don't think she would have thought much of it. The whole reason I confirmed Steph and Tim's relationship had become sexual was to ensure the reader understood that I wasn't trying to condemn premarital sex, I was just framing it as a personal choice. One that Cassandra chose not to make.

The presentation of consent was likewise something I spent a lot of time mulling over, because it's more complicated here than it would be in a lot of other stories. From Sadie's perspective, Cassie might be a little developmentally stunted, but the biggest thing separating them is a language barrier. Cassie hasn't explained the truth of her history yet (I can only imagine what that conversation will eventually be like…) and Sadie is under the impression Cassie understands the meaning of their intimate encounter. If Sadie _did_ know Cassie's history, I can guarantee she wouldn't have started touching her sexually until the two had a number of conversations beforehand about Cassie's readiness. But as is, Sadie initiates a sexual encounter and keeps asking Cassie if what she's doing is okay. Despite her confusion on some things, Cassie keeps giving her affirmative consent and Sadie does stop immediately as soon as she hears Cassie say not to go any further. It's still kind of an icky situation, but both women are doing the best with what they have.

Bit of a side tangent here: I find the "almost sex scene" in Chapter 15 to be kind of narmy to look back on. It's written the way it is in the hopes of not taking chances with the site's mods and fear of going too far with characters who are still minors, but I think it could have gone a little further. A female friend of mine joked with me that no one's breasts were sensitive enough to go on about touching like I did and yeeeeeaaaaah, it's probably safer than it needs to be.

Getting back on topic: No one ever told me my avoidance of sex would be an issue in a relationship. I suppose that reflects a younger, more naïve me who'd been taught by old stereotypes that women didn't crave sex. No one bothered to tell me that it would turn into the impetus of so many fights and tears. I streamlined the events, but Cassie's struggle trying to save her virginity with a partner who has different values comes from personal experiences.

Sadie's talk of "Being on different pages" is something that came very directly from a lot of exchanges with my ex. She used to say a lot that I was directionless in life, that I had a lot of dreams but didn't often invest in them. She wasn't exactly wrong, but considering she burned the bridge with me after I had proposed and moved in with her, it's a shitty sentiment to think back on. Cassie and Sadie's disconnect goes in a different direction, namely that Cassandra has unrealistic expectations of their future at this point in their relationship and that Sadie is mostly trying not to think about building anything at all. In the end the two learn a lesson in communicating with one another and get some time to reflect on what went wrong before they try again.

As a last note here, my previous statements that Cassandra is pansexual still hold. My ex, a bisexual, felt it was important that, if I was going to put Cassie in a failing relationship with Connor, her sexuality shouldn't be the reason. This was to encourage visibility among those whose sexuality is non-binary and it is a decision I still very much agree with. Probably helps that since Connor is asexual, he's another person that can be counted on the spectrum.

 _Faith on a Personal Level_

As is probably obvious from my engagement coming apart and other hints, my life's taken a very strange turn. For the first time since I was a kid, I let myself be mad at God for a while. I knew I was never the perfect Catholic, but I tried so hard. I went to church every Sunday, abstained from meat every Lenten Friday, prayed before every meal, insisted there was no good reason we shouldn't have a Catholic wedding. And aside from all of that I loved her with all of my being, as my equal, my partner and my most precious friend. And all of that disappearing in what felt like in an instant did do its job in testing me for a while.

But faith should not be based in rewards. At least, not in the conventional sense. I believe in God and in Catholicism, I believe in life after death, but Heaven is not a reward granted to the faithful. It is a gift, freely given. And so likewise I do not believe happiness in this life is a reward for good behavior. Happiness is the positivity we make of our lives on Earth.

Since this was supposed to be the more "human" narrative, it ended up being the place to examine faith apart from the supernatural, a concept that is wildly fascinating to me. And in that vein, the greatest religious crux of _Times of Heresy_ is the idea that Catholicism is neither magical nor karmic. Believing in God and praying doesn't fix every problem in the story and doing everything right doesn't guarantee misfortune won't befall you. Again, Cassie isn't ready for sex, so she says no and unintentionally hurt Sadie emotionally. That doesn't mean she should have just kept her mouth shut, it means the situation had no good solution. And she later saves the Odmience's life after he falls into the ocean only from him to attack her for it later. This is a hard pill to swallow that I thought was worth examining: life doesn't always reward you for doing the right thing. So, with that potentially nihilistic thought, what are we supposed to do then? And where is God supposed to fit in?

Well, as proposed by the story, my solution is we need to do the right thing anyway and let God take care of the rest. If Sadie wasn't able to respect Cassie's boundaries when Cassie told her no, she really had no business sticking around in their relationship. But Sadie does respect the no, breaks things off for different reasons and the two are eventually able to reconcile. Likewise, it is only because Cassie saves the Odmience that, in spite of his escape, she is eventually able to redeem him. Life is obviously not this simple, but I believe that more often than not altruism breeds more altruism. More givers and more kindness in the world will create even more givers and even more kindness, even if it doesn't come back around to the first giver directly.

And does God sort out the rest? I'd like to believe so, even if it is in ways we don't always understand immediately. I don't believe God told the bearded man to attack Lupe, but I do believe he may have gently pushed Cassandra toward the alley where it was happening. Maybe that's cheating, but it's at least open to interpretation. The _Angel_ stories are meant to be open to secular readings if one wishes to read them that way.

The point is that I don't believe God will secure you a promotion at work if you go to church every Sunday. I don't believe your lottery numbers will improve if you volunteer at a soup kitchen. And I no longer believe preserving one's virginity and planning a traditional Catholic wedding guarantees a happy, successful marriage. But I do believe going to church can be positive for introspection and humbleness. And that more soup kitchen volunteers means fewer people are hungry, even if it's only for one night. And that the decision to have or not to have sex is still deeply personal, and it's no one's choice but one's own if they choose to abstain. People, religious and secular, should not do good things in expectation of reward and instead view their actions as rewards in and of themselves. It takes a lot of faith to believe that good will truly multiply, but I am a person of faith to begin with.

 _Individual Character Analysis_

 _The Returning Cast:_

 _Cassandra_

Writing for Cassie a second time was difficult because I had a base I had to build off of. Cassie had to be better rounded and a better communicator in this story as a result of additional months of study and personal improvement, but she's still well below the rest of the cast. It was easier to write her dialogue and the like in the first story because I could stick to my method of, "Remove every unnecessary word." This time around her speaking had to sound just a little more natural and she needed to have a firmer grasp on her newly found religion. Again, that was a tricky balance for me.

The true heart of this story is the very simple question, "What if Cassandra Cain had one bad day?" in the manner proposed by _The Killing Joke_. I didn't feel like the story really had legs to stand on until that was the question I was asking myself, but then I got really excited. Writers are all kind of bastards in that way: we like to watch our characters suffer.

I'll admit, Cassandra's struggle with whether or not to have sex is a bit of an unusual conflict, and, as alluded to before, was largely chosen because it's something I've struggled with myself. But Cassie didn't have years of religious and public education telling her contradictory things about her body, so I can understand if a reader feels like it comes a little out of nowhere. Still, I do feel like it's justified in other ways. Sexual pleasure is something she's had very little exposure to and it, coupled with her more extreme sense of feeling, is presented as overwhelming. That, when combined with Monsignor Ryan's words to her that she's expected to preserve her virginity, makes her very cautious of the prospect of physical love with Sadie. This doesn't exactly get resolved in the story itself, but I think between her reconciliation with Sadie and knowing that Steph and Tim have slept together, she's not feeling as negative about the whole thing. In my mental _Angel_ continuity, Cassie and Sadie do eventually get married, but I think it's up to the reader to decide if they ever had sex before or after that.

Cassie has the somewhat unusual story arc of starting on the right path, losing it, and finding it again. I'll be the first to admit, I'm always afraid to trust my readers to just read and let things play out, so it was a difficult thing to force myself to do. Not that I think you guys don't deserve to be trusted, I just knew I was dealing with something that had the potential to be fiercely unpleasant for the readership. I tried very hard to drop in little kernels of reassurance that the change wouldn't stick. Cassie still feels empathy for the Muslim woman and child she saves, even if she's trying to act otherwise. Stephanie is around to assure us the way Cassie's acting towards her opponents and even her friends is really not okay. And, after an arduous struggle, she does manage to get back on the right path again. It felt like a huge risk and it got really uncomfortable to write at times, but that's the price you pay for a redemption narrative.

All of this was planned pretty much before a single word made it to the page, but the timing almost makes me laugh in the darkest kind of way. Cassie and Sadie's fallout happened very close to my own breakup and I wondered if one fan wasn't paying super close attention and wondering if I had a change of heart and decided to throw away my support for the LGBTQ+ community. Not so, I happened to be hurt horribly by one bisexual woman, no one is to blame for that but her.

 _Stephanie_

Still very much the second most important character to the narrative, Stephanie's got her own struggles throughout _Times of Heresy_ that tie her intrinsically to Cassie's arc but also build off the themes of the first story. Because of the DC Relaunch, we never got to see much of what became of the relationship between pre-Flashpoint Steph and characters like Bruce and Cassandra after she became Batgirl… and I am aware DC Rebirth confirmed the relaunch characters and their pre-Flashpoint selves are the same characters, yada yada yada, that's beside the point. I'm referring specifically to pre-Flashpoint Steph. Whom, I will remind you, is my favorite comic book character.

Though her tenure as Batgirl deviates a lot from how it happened in Bryan Q. Miller's 2009-2011 run, similar elements are still there. Steph has spent basically her entire vigilante career being told by Batman that she was doing everything wrong and the sudden liberation she feels in the Batgirl uniform is tricky to deal with. And since Bruce is still around in this continuity, she feels like she's still trying to prove she can handle herself to him and ends up being her own undoing. In this way, Steph's Batgirl arc deals heavily with her accepting she can't always handle everything on her own and she shouldn't be too stubborn to ask for help. The first story dealt with Stephanie finally forgiving Bruce for their tumultuous history, this one deals with her finally learning to trust him again.

Stephanie's presentation here was also kind of cathartic for me at this point. If asked what trait is the single most important when writing Stephanie Brown, it is that she never, _ever_ , gives up, not on a job, not on a friend and not on hope. A reminder that at the end of Miller's Batgirl run, she overcome a lungful of Black Mercy, which can cripple freaking _Superman_ , through her indomitable willpower. A fact that seems sorely lost on the post-relaunch likes of Scott Snyder and James Tynnion IV, who have reimagined her as prepared to run away from Gotham in _Batman Eternal_ , calling Cassandra "Barely a person" in _Batman and Robin Eternal_ and willing to totally dismantle the Bat-family in _Detective Comics_ … _SHEESH_. I haven't read much that includes her since then, but all of those moments were real slaps in the face to me over and over again. So I wrote Stephanie the way I think she's best written. She's still not the smartest, she still screws stuff up and occasionally she's shortsighted. But she acts how she does because of her sometimes spotty track record with her boss and later out of love for her best friend. I think Steph's got the biggest heart in the Bat-family and that's how I write her.

Though Tim's not in this story a lot (to the point this will serve as his character examination), we do get a few more details on where he and Steph are at at this point. They have definitely had sex at some point between stories (in the Bunker no less) and she's ready to marry him whenever he's ready to ask. I'm not exactly advocating for this mindset, I know most high school relationships don't make it (believe me, I know) but theirs is a bit more of an unusual case, as I acknowledge in the story proper. They've been working together and defending one another for years as superheroes. And, as much as I know I try for realism in other aspects of my storytelling, I don't go into the negatives of that a ton. I love them as a couple in the comics, I like this as wish fulfillment.

At one point in the planning stages, I considered giving Stephanie a crisis of her own sexual identity and coming to terms with the fact that she did, indeed, have feelings for Cassie. I'm actually very relieved I opted to cut that. Platonic friendship is extremely important and I feel like I haven't written enough women strictly as friends. You don't need romantic feelings to worry about a dear friend's mental health. Still, you could read it as a little homoerotic if you cared to, particularly Steph's outburst when she says Cassie's turned into a total bitch, which, I think, does almost read like a bit of a lover's quarrel.

Regardless of any of that, I think Steph always tries to see the best in people. That's what gives her an important dynamic when Cassie slips into extremism and it's what allows her to resolve things with the Reapers after becoming public enemy number one for them.

 _Sadie_

Sadie was difficult to write in this story while sticking to the framework I'd previously established. If there is ANY major event from the first story I'd like to retcon at this point, it might be editing the nature of Cassie and Sadie's first meeting. I'm aware that saving someone's life does not mean they're automatically obligated to love you forever, but it makes Sadie's reason for breaking things off at the point she did look a lot worse than they would in a normal relationship. Theirs still ISN'T a normal relationship, since Cassie doesn't understand some aspects of communication and intimacy, but from Sadie's perspective it seems simpler than it actually is.

Considering how late she came into the picture in the first story, to the point she and Cassie hadn't even hooked up until the epilogue, it was fine for me initially to just treat her as "Cassie's girlfriend" and little else. That had to change for Times of Heresy. I'll grudgingly admit I made her a bit of a hipster (as much as I hate that word) because I thought it would make for an interesting dynamic with Cassie, who doesn't really understand subversion or art all that well. As salty as I got about Tynnion IV in Steph's analysis, I've been a touch bitter that he writes Cassandra as well as he does and admit her fascination with ballet makes a lot more sense than me trying to tie her into visual art. Anyway back to Sadie- I'll admit, I didn't ground her interests in things that I myself am especially close to and fear they may not have been represented well. I also kind of got the feeling reading reviews early on that my readers weren't exactly crazy about her. That's disappointing, since she's an original creation and all, but with some rereading and reflection, I kind of get it. It feels like there wasn't enough there to bridge "Cassie's girlfriend" into a character in her own right. It was cool that Cassie was in a same-sex relationship, but more for the idea than for the two characters. It was sad to see Cassie deal with a breakup, but only because breakups in themselves suck, not because people were especially attached to the couple. If reviews are an accurate indication, this did get better in the story's second half, but it was still something frustrating to deal with. Romance isn't one of my strong suits at this point, but I really wanted to give it a try here.

Bringing conflict into their relationship was another hurdle I feel like I kind of tripped over. The trouble with their dynamic in _Times of Heresy_ is the fact that I more constantly portrayed Cassie as the victim while giving her no negative acts of her own. In a relationship that ends up being reconciled with "We both messed up, we both need to communicate better", Cassie doesn't have a ton to apologize for. The pressure Sadie talks about doesn't really turn up much of anywhere besides the sexual encounter and I regret that. There was a scene I went back and forth on where Sadie would have turned up with a nose or a lip ring or something and it would have creeped Cassie out and led to a fight or something (based on a regrettable personal experience...). I guess the reviews indicated readership was feeling positive about Sadie by the end, but she feels like a well of missed opportunities to me.

None of this is to say I'm totally unhappy with how her character turned out. I think her struggle of "failure to communicate out of fear of souring a good thing" is something a lot of people deal with in their relationships at some point or another. It's problematic, but I've certainly been that person before and I totally know how it feels.

I believe Sadie thought moving in and out of Cassie's life was going to be a lot easier than it turned out to be. I think she came in without a lot of expectations and thought she'd be able to walk out when things got sour and get on with her life. But Cassie left an impression and Sadie really did end up feeling loved. That's what makes her want to try again, personal differences be damned.

 _Bruce_

Like the first _Angel_ , Bruce/Batman is largely left to serve a side-role in Gotham. In one part this is to keep the focus on Cassandra and Stephanie and in another, I sometimes have a hard time figuring what to do with him. I'm not really sure what he was so busy doing with the Justice League for the first half of the story, I just needed him to be away so I could show the ups and downs of the Bat-Family trying to defend Gotham without him.

In a story like this, Bruce's role as a parent is what's most important to the plot. There are only a small handful of scenes when he's out in the Batman suit at all, so he's a lot more busy playing support to the rest of his team. I absolutely believe he tries his hardest to be a good father toward his adopted children, but sometimes the fact that he hasn't raised any of them from birth makes things complicated for him. I think Bruce would like to believe the relationships in his life are more static than they really are. "Stephanie and he reconciled, so he doesn't think they still have issues to be resolved." "Cassandra is acting unwell, but she's not going to do anything too out of line." That things are different than that troubles him.

Despite his relatively few appearances and some turmoil, Bruce/Batman are around to remind us of what we're supposed to hope for from our heroes. He's still here to serve and protect first and save as many people as he can. In the end, that's what it's all about.

 _Monsignor Ryan_

This story's greatest failing is the absolutely criminal lack of Snowball. That joke out of the way, I'll get earnest.

Monsignor Ryan was both a difficult and somewhat painful character for me to write this time around. He was another idealized concept from the first story that reality had to ensue for here. Monsignor Ryan's inspiration passed away some time ago, so I really don't know what he would think of how I represented him here. I always wanted to believe he was a compassionate, empathetic man and I still hold on to those feelings, but there had to some breaking of the pedestal.

Although they never interact, Cameron Gram kind of serves as the monsignor's counterpart in this story. Though the reference isn't intentional, Monsignor Ryan ends up hitting the nail on the head with Gram when he says some religious authorities are more than content to have their influence without having empathy. The monsignor is extremely sympathetic to the feelings of his congregation, Gram mostly revels in what he perceives as moral superiority. But even if the monsignor is the better of the two, he still represents my belief that the church has failed to play catch up with the issues of today. And probably has been doing so for a very long time.

Both of my parents were divorced before they married one another and I was born. If not for those divorces the church can still prove so judgmental of, I wouldn't be alive. The Catholic Church runs a number of good, effective charities for women with unwanted pregnancies as alternatives to abortion, but it continues to resist easily accessible contraceptives, the single most effective way of preventing those pregnancies to begin with and thus, lowering abortion rates. And we're currently in this bizarre gray area where homosexuality is acknowledged as a natural phenomenon that isn't sinful in itself, but is when you commit "homosexual acts." Like… what the hell? I suppose progress is progress, but this is a weird time to be Catholic.

Monsignor Ryan represents my begrudging frustrations here. I believe, at least ideologically, the church is doing better these days, but it's still not where it needs to be. It'd be really nice if the old priest could tell Cassie, "There's nothing wrong with what you're feeling, and I'm going to join you in this fight for your dignity and respect," but it also wouldn't have felt genuine. Ryan will keep her secrets and not refuse her Communion, that's better than some other priests would do. But he still falls short of casting off his outdated and ineffective ideals, which keeps him from being as truly good as he aspires to be. A little more on that later…

 _New to the Plot:_

 _Victor Lipov_

Victor Lipov was designed to be the antithesis to the Seraphim as far as villains go. The Seraphim was a religious zealot, Lipov is secular. The Seraphim always just viewed Cassandra as one more thing between him and his true opponent, Lipov saw her as a goal in herself. The Seraphim was physically very imposing, Lipov is hardly much of a fighter at this point. But they do both like elaborate plans that involve blowing things up. I solemnly swear that if the third _Angel_ story ever gets made, there will be no threats of explosions in the climax.

I'll admit, even I don't find Lipov all that interesting. He's an obsessed revenge nut with no really lofty aspirations for his life. He's a little like Wile E. Coyote, if you ask me. He's so focused on his endgame he really isn't interested in anything else, and he'll only tolerate his own specific line of events. He's so concerned with beating his old mentor at his own game he gives no thought to the massive amount of time and resources he's wasting or what simpler ways he could be getting what he wants.

I think the shroud of mystery that hangs over Lipov is my favorite part. If you were hoping I would clarify anything, I hate to disappoint you, but I think that's better left to interpretation. I personally do interpret Lipov's assignment to kill Cain for conceiving Cassandra to be the truth, but it's there for readers to think otherwise if they care to.

I've joked to myself before that, "Everything I ever needed to know about conflict I learned by watching Looney Tunes." Lipov is an almost Wile E. Coyote-like character, in that his existence seems to revolve around a single task to which he will go to absurd lengths to accomplish. The potentially profound moment when Cassie asks him what he really intends to do with his life after his revenge was partly inspired by the short "Soup or Sonic," in which Wile. E. Coyote finally catches a super-sized Road Runner and questions what the hell he's supposed to do then.

It's maybe a little contradictory that the narrative I intended to be more "human" has a main villain who I'm comparing with a Warner Brothers cartoon, but in this case I wanted the villains to have less focus. This is an internal struggle more than anything else, Lipov and the Odmience are just here to keep things rolling.

Rafal/The Odmience

Batman stories tend to feature a lot of dark reflections of their heroes. Bruce alone has a number of enemies who also came from wealthy households and grew up with vast power and influence (Penguin, Black Mask, Hush) or otherwise represent the character if his life had gone in a slightly different direction. Cassie even sort of gets her canonical reflection opponents in the form of Mother's army of Orphans in Batman and Robin Eternal. But I felt like we'd never really seen a villain whose shtick was, "Cassandra's upbringing, but it worked." It seemed like a good building block to construct a new antagonist from.

I do treat the story Lipov told about his origins as canon, but that still tells us very little. Rafal has no official birth name and only the barest in the way of a personal identity. Lipov is the only person he had any form of extended contact with in his formative years and his training from hell took a toll on his mental stability. Even after he escapes Lipov we see he has extreme difficulty with social interactions and feels like he's constantly forced to defend himself. To compare again, the Seraphim seemed to revel in what he did, the Odmience is only willing because he feels he has no other choice. At the end of the day, he really is a scared child who has never been taught how to do the right thing.

From the start I wanted the final battle between Cassie and the Odmience to be subversive. I love a long, hard beatdown as much as the next Batman fan, but I felt winning a fist fight against an opponent like the Odmience wouldn't be fulfilling. In earlier mental drafts, Cassie would have conceded that the Odmience really was her superior and she knew she wouldn't be able to beat him by force. That idea was cut and the question of who was superior is left ambiguous because it was important he be defeated the way he was, whether he could have been stopped with force or not. In Cassie's use of the name Rafal to humanize him, surrender and pummeling at his hands, she taps into the inner humility that Lipov long denied him. He chooses to stop being the monster Lipov made him.

 _David Cain_

I'll admit, settling on Lipov's motivations was tricky for me because, well, who exactly would care that someone is trying to kill David Cain? He's one of DC's coldest bastards, but he really isn't so in a Joker, James Gordon Jr. or one of those guys. Cain's done terrible things, it's tempting to want to see him meet a terrible end. So the real experiment was internal pondering if care toward his daughter and regret is enough to make him worth sympathy. Not redemption, just sympathy.

At the end of the day, in David Cain's original incarnation he never let go of his soft spot for his daughter, one that I don't think came from intention. When Cassie first shouted at him to "Stop!" back in their first storyline together, Cain was moved to tears. Across all of their confrontations over the years, he's always been careful to try not hurting her too badly. He keeps this same attitude in this story. Cain has openings to potentially kill Cassie in their fight on the Final Offer, but doesn't. He pleads with Lipov to leave her out of their feud when he's captured. And he seems to even praise Bruce for the job he's done as a better parent. He's glad his daughter didn't end up following in his footsteps after all. And, in his last moments, he saves her from sharing his fate in the burning church.

But is any of this enough to make a reader feel for him? This is still a character who put his daughter through absolute hell growing up, take money to kill and, in this storyline, betrayed his apprentice who stood up for him. David Cain is unquestionably still a bad guy and he sure as hell knows it. In his last breaths, he laments his sacrifice will be one of only two good things he did with his life. So what are those two good things ultimately worth?

In an earlier outline, I was going to have Bruce comfort Cassandra after Cain's death, where they would have the conversation of Cassie insisting, "I had to save him" and Bruce suggesting, "Maybe you did." I felt this was out of place even as a comforting mechanism, especially with the decided lack of references to Heaven in the rest of the plot. When all is said and done, no, I don't think Cain did deserve to be saved.

But, as I've referenced before, faith isn't about what is deserved. Cassandra goes to save him and may have even tried to save Lipov, if it was at all feasible to do so. I don't know if her act would have put Cain on the path to redemption, but he did find it in him to save one life after the many he'd taken. I don't know what is waiting for David Cain when he has to face Saint Peter at the gate, but for Cassandra's attempt to save him, he saves her back. It fits the themes mentioned earlier about good being rewarded with good. Whether it can truly apply to a beast like him is up to the reader.

 _Cameron Gram_

Getting back to the monster you choose to be, Gram probably deserves a few more words here, despite how much he was referenced earlier. Like the other villains, there is a certain, anti-Seraphim quality that underlines Gram's character. As is referenced early on, Gram being a self-righteous, judgmental bigot while also being within the law makes him intimidating to Cassandra. It seems natural that the person talking the loudest and with the most passion may be the one most invested in their faith. Gram's been a Christian much longer than Cassandra has, he can point to Biblical phrases to prove his point, he has Jesusy bumper stickers, clearly all of these things reflect the deep content of his character (not!) In spite of Billy Graham being his surname's inspiration, he's got more in common with Billy's son Franklin, in that he's so obsessed with what he's against he doesn't actually seem to support much of anything.

What Gram longs for, even if he himself doesn't realize it, is a world where someone like him could be on the top again. From his perspective, a lot of pesky minorities of different religions, sexualities and skin tones are demanding that they too be treated like human beings. As the saying goes, to the privileged, equality looks like oppression.

Nonetheless, Gram's character evolution ultimately bears a message of hope, even if it is one I fear can only affect so much. I had to wonder to myself, would Carly Fiorina still be so adamant she had nothing to do with that Planned Parenthood shooting if the killer looked her in the eyes and said, "Thank you"? There was a thought I read about once that the nuclear launch codes should be stored in the heart of a secret service member, so the president would have to kill one person directly before issuing the order to kill thousands with a bomb and that kind of stuck with me. If these people with their awful, bigoted mindsets had to witness what they said they wanted, would they still support it? It's an unfortunate reality that many still would, but I'd prefer not to think all of them. I continue to try with all my being to believe people are far greater in their capacity for good than evil, and we should be accepting of that shift if we ever witness it in someone. People can change. It's our place to fight injustice wherever it should crop up and do everything in our power to make the world better for those who are treated unfairly. But we must also believe that even our greatest enemies could change. Fight them every step of the way, but do not be defiant and don't lose them in your gloating if they decide you were right all along.

 _Zsasz_

While I'm trying to keep these characters in something resembling order by impact, I thought I should bring up Victor Zsasz here and get the darkness associated with his scene out of the way so we can move on to more uplifting things.

I'm always a fan of some genre-bending mind screw in a storyline like this. If you've read the first story, you may remember the nightmare sequences brought on by the Seraphim and how the plot turned into a bit of a horror story for a while. While I made sure to keep Zsasz in the back of the reader's head with occasional references, the scene between him and Cassandra is meant to feel like it came out of nowhere. It's meant to be unsettling, it's meant to be upsetting, it's the ideal culmination of the awful part of the arc Cassie was going through.

Zsasz felt like the ideal candidate to be the villain who forced Cassandra over the edge. I have little in the way of reading history with Zsasz, but was pleasantly creeped out by him in the _Arkham_ video games. That's what I was trying to emulate here: his unsettlingly steady voice, his almost Hannibal Lector-like mannerisms, all that jazz. He certainly has an appeal to him, but he's also simple and underutilized enough that I felt like I could use him as fodder.

That was a decision I really stewed on a lot before it finally happened. Initially I just wanted Cassie to beat Zsasz into a coma and have to face the terror of how close she had come to killing him. But I ultimately decided that I wanted to take advantage of the fact that I don't have a comics mandated status quo to keep up. I've actually written plenty of other work with heroes who have no particular qualms about killing, so it was kind of funny to me to make such a big deal out of it here. I won't get into the argument about whether killing a killer is wrong here, but I personally think Gotham is going to be better off without Zsasz in the picture. But regardless of if he should have been killed or not, it shouldn't have been Cassandra who did it. It shouldn't have been someone who was so long defined by her search for another answer—any other answer. Cassie was right, Zsasz did deserve to be punished harshly, but it didn't do her any favors to be the one to carry that out.

 _Connor_

I actually had some interest in bringing Connor Hawke into the narrative back in the first story. As he and Cassandra have had some strong stories together and he is probably DC's most popular Buddhist character, I thought he and Cassie had the potential for an interesting dynamic back in the first plot, but I didn't end up following through with it. It wasn't intentional, but Connor's envisioned role probably ended up going to Nightwing, just another character of non-Catholic faith giving Cassie some support and love. And the fact that he was another character who disappeared after the New 52 relaunch made me want to reintroduce him in a work of my own. Even if plan A didn't pan out, he's given a real and much larger role here.

As I've admitted before, I've never been the closest follower of any of the _Green Arrow_ cast and I may have bitten off more than I could chew by having them so deeply involved in the plot. Nevertheless, I have enjoyed the _Arrow_ stories I have read and was always charmed by Connor during his tenure with the bow. He's mostly stoic but lighter sides of him peek through sometimes, and above all else he's just trying to be a really good guy. Like most writers (save for Chuck Dixon), I chose to depict Connor as asexual. It felt like it added to the dynamic between him and Cassandra when they're sort-of dating and allowed him the chance to live up to his mantra about wanting to decrease suffering in the world. And, as mentioned, it was something he'd had experience in before with Mia. Connor loves his friends when they don't know how to love themselves.

 _Lupe_

(I want to apologize ahead of time if I misuse any terms or reveal some misunderstanding in the following section. I am a Queer-allied, cis, heterosexual male and I am trying my hardest)

Of any character in the story, Lupe probably changed the most from beginning to end and frustrated me at various points in between. I'm rather thankful her appearance is so relatively short lived, because playing the long game with her while I was changing my mind so much would have been a total pain.

The earliest idea for the character who I mostly referred to in my notes as, "The Ghirardelli Lady" was a male-to-female transgender person I considered not giving a proper name, but always referred to in some part of my mind as "Chris." She had a similar but not as developed role as Lupe and I initially thought I could do everything I wanted with her in about two chapters. She would have been attacked as well but the plan was for it to be far more violent, to the point of being hospitalized. An exhausted Cassie would have taken her to the hospital, dozed off from a tiredness I never figured out and had a maybe-dream, maybe-real conversation with Chris similar to the one she had with Lupe, she'd wake up and the nurse would tell her Chris died in her sleep. I'm frankly more than a little ashamed of the forced and tragic nature of this original plan and that's why I kept going back to it to try and make it right. Chris was about as blatant a "character as plot device" as I've done in a while, almost as bad as the "She's totally Jesus" overtone of the thing. And yes, she was totally Jesus. That was something else I wanted to get away from. I take no issue with the prospect of a trans Jesus, I think there are a wealth of interesting story possibilities there, actually. But as I've said before, Times of Heresy was supposed to be a more human story at its core than the original.

Several factors influenced my final decisions about Lupe. For one, as a Latina there was already some built in shorthand that she grew up Catholic. I wanted Cassie to have another person with at least a Catholic background to interact with, since it would later reflect on their similar situations. Emilio, Lupe's husband in all but legal documentation, serves to bait and switch Cassie while she's struggling with her sexuality. She envies what looks to be their perfectly healthy, hetero-normal relationship only to later learn that Lupe was born male.

In revising the nature and end result of the attack, I hoped to better empower Cassandra and get Lupe out from the drudgery of tragedy-fated queer characters. Cassie witnesses something that is terrible and, after much too long dealing with her moral compass sliding around, finally decides she already knows full and well what the right thing to do is. Lupe, still all in one piece, gets to talk to her about her struggles with her identity and her belief in the real beauty of the human soul.

 _The Reapers_

If you were aware from the get go these guys were not original creations of mine, you're pretty awesome.

The Reapers, for the unfamiliar, were Bryan Q. Miller's attempt to give Stephanie a rouges gallery in her solo books before the DC Relaunch dashed away his plans back in 2011. They are the reoccurring villains of the storyline "The Lesson" and I always thought they were a major case of missed potential. I don't blame the fantastic Bryan Q. for that, I think he did his best with the time allotted him. The Reapers, in the pages of Batgirl, were a bit of a nebulous evil organization of Gotham U students in power armor funded by the Cluemaster... Somehow. I've read those comics multiple times and details are still hazy to me. I needed some characters in the story who could serve as fight scene fodder since Lipov and the Odmience didn't have anyone else allied with them, and thought it would be fun to include this team of mostly forgotten supervillains.

Bryan Q.'s template didn't exactly give me a ton to work with. Only two of the five Reapers had names and civilian designs that got a little elaboration in the original comics. I gave the suits origins with HIVE because I felt it gave them some history in the greater DCU. It also seemed in-character for HIVE to distribute power armor to seemingly random college kids just to see what damage they would manage with them. The five still don't have a tone of personality, but I tried to give them a little more than Bryan Q. could squeeze out. Xane/Slipstream is still obnoxious and straightforward like his comic counterpart. Tracey/Melody/Harmony (see the trivia section below) is still impulsive and a poor planner. Richie/Figment had no real personality or even a given civilian name in the comics, so I decided I could do the most with him, giving him a gadgeteer genius vibe and his own reservations about serving Lipov. Miles/Jabberwocky (who was just "Jabberwock" in the comics, but the mistake stuck) was mostly just depicted as a meathead because that's mostly what he was. We never really even got a solid idea what his armor did, so I just went with super-strength. And Jill/Miranda is meant to read a bit like a bitchy valley girl commanding her friends around, again because the comics didn't give me much to work with. Her powers are also ill-defined, so I ended up saying she's got a bootleg Lantern ring.

It was fun to have these guys around for fight scenes and to depict their own internal struggles going along with Lipov's plans. Like Odmience, it isn't a straightforward fight that beats them, it's forgiveness and empathy from the opponent they've made their number one enemy.

 _Some morsels of trivia-_

\- The cat Ali is based off of a pair of animals whom I loved dearly. One was a little street cat my ex took in and named Marmalade and the other was a gray and white dwarf hamster we raised in the short time we lived together named Albus. Both have sadly passed, but like my beagle Sadie, I wanted to memorialize them in a work of mine.

\- Several moments in the fic were directly inspired by Christian rock songs. "Darkest Part" by RED fueled much of Cassie's fundamentalist phase. "Treasure" and "All Around Me" by Flyleaf set the tone for the Star City chunk of the plot. "Stronger Than You Think" by Fireflight choreographed the final battle with the Odmience. If this story has a theme song to me, it's "Furious Love" by Veridia, which I also mentally played for Lipov's last stand. And, if these were credits, "Made to Glow" by Shine Bright Baby would be playing over them. I am incredibly smaltzy, but at least I acknowledge it.

\- The description of this story doesn't mesh well with the story itself and I should seriously write a new one.

\- Bruce's frustration over odmience being too obscure to build suspicions around mirrored my own anger about finding a demonic creature that so perfectly fit what I was looking for only to realize they're barely mentioned in their own mythology.

\- "Rafal" was chosen as the Odmience's given name because of its equivalence to Raphael, who is not only the angel associated with healing, but is an exclusively Catholic character due to the Book of Tobit being apocryphal among Protestants.

\- If you examine the description of Tim's Red Robin uniform in the first scene he turns up in it, you may note it doesn't match the costume most associated with the character before or after the relaunch. My Red Robin costume is a transplant of the suit Tim wore in the _Unternet_ storyline of the _Red Robin_ books, which is kind of a Robin-Nightwing fusion suit that happens to be my favorite look for him.

\- I wasn't reading Batman comics when Philo Zeiss was first introduced and later totally abandoned in the early 2000's, but it seemed bizarre to me how he seemed to just come and go. I know not every Batman villain ends up sticking, but it seemed like the writers were hoping they were on the verge of creating the next Bane. I reflected this in his one scene appearance against Connor and Cassandra, in which he rants about how powerful he is but how totally he's been forgotten.

\- Cameron Gram occasionally has a pair on his show he refers to as, "Gary" and "Phil," who are the fictional counterparts of a pair of Christian conspiracy nuts with the same names who I only know about from Brad Jones' "DVDR Hell: Deception of a Generation" which I highly recommend for a good laugh at some truly amazing asspulling.

\- The heavyset woman with green hair in the tea house who briefly talks to Stephanie is based off a friend of mine named LJ, who I'd like to dream will stumble across this some day independent of my mentioning it.

\- There was something of an abandoned plot point in the phrase "Trouble in paradise." It shows up twice, once in the tea room when fictional LJ puts Stephanie on Cam Gram's trail and later when Lupe and Cassie first open up to one another. The phrase, in my head, indicates a little "push" either from the character conscience or from God, depending on how you'd like to interpret it. To have gone all the way with it would have probably involved Cassie herself saying it upon seeing the bearded man and Lupe in the alleyway, but I felt it would have hurt the tension of the scene.

\- Lian Harper is only in this story because, after how rotten DC has been to her and her lack of appearances even after her death was retconned, I wanted to assure readers she is happy and healthy in my continuity.

\- As I mentioned in an earlier note, I wasn't actually aware of the supporting _Green Arrow_ character Mia Dearden when I started writing this story. She actually ended up suiting my purposes surprisingly well as a bait-and-switch tactic for Lupe. I set up some initial tension between Mia and Cassie in the hopes readers familiar with her would think she'd have a more direct hand in Cassie's redemption. I wanted the suspicion to be that Mia would open up about her time being a prostitute just to get by and the fact that she has HIV, both of which would be difficult for Cassie to reconcile while still being stuck in her judgmental, Gram-influenced mindset. And also because I decided I quite liked her once I discovered her.

 _The Future of the Angel Series_

The last thing I want to put to page before I finally call this thing done is what, if anything, is still to come for my Angel of the Bat writings. I'm not really in a position to make promises at this point, I've got my own still unpublished work that really need to start taking priority in my writing life again. I know I've been talking about them forever now, but I'm about to make some honest to God pitches here soon. And it's hard to say I'll have the time and energy for fan fiction while I'm finding a home for my opus series. Nevertheless, I still do, absolutely, have ideas about this series.

The crossover with Ms. Marvel remains out there, still barely started but with a lot of ideas I was extremely pleased with going in. _Beware the Batman_ has a solid storyline I feel I could go forward with without making any alterations halfway through. And, because I am one of the everybody who loves trilogies, I do have an idea of what I would do for a third Angel story if I felt like it. To offer just a tiny bit of insight, this possible third entry would be pretty different from the first two. I think it will require travel beyond Gotham fairly early on and keep far away. That would also mean separating Cassie from the rest of the Gotham cast, but there would be a new ensemble of DC characters from some very unusual places that would serve as the story's ragtag team of protagonists. In the same vein Times of Heresy was more human, I think this story is meant to be more fantastic, though just as meaningful. And, after stories of Protestant Evangelical antagonists in some capacity, this story would feature a Catholic as its main villain and finally feature what I feel are the failings of my own branch of faith at the forefront. But again, that's if I get around to writing it.

If I don't have it in me to make a home for these stories myself, I may see if there is anyone else interested and pass them my notes and my blessing. After all, Angel of the Bat was an idea I adopted from Gail Simone and didn't come up with myself. Maybe that would be fitting.

I don't know what lays ahead for this series and I don't know what lies ahead for this world I'm just one tiny writer in. It's a turbulent time to be a Catholic in my country right now, not because I fear for myself but because I am disgusted by the injustice that continues to happen to others. But I know, from messages I've received and reviews I've read, that I've done even just a little bit to spread hope in addition to entertainment. At least one experience a reader said they had with my work brought tears to my eyes. This is why I write: because I think I have something to say and something that will be meaningful to others.

Fight and protest injustice wherever you see it. Be that source of compassion to someone who needs it. Make the choice to stop doing wrong to others and strive for a better future. Be an altruist, your reward will be the better world we all get to live in.

Thank you all for taking this journey with me and God bless. This is Michael Joseph Tharnish Roby, signing off.


End file.
